Jane: The Unauthorized Autobiography
by iapetus999
Summary: The true story of Jane Porter, a young zoologist who travels with her father to deep Africa to catalog new species. She discovers wild man Tarzan who reveals Africa's secrets, including the lioness in her heart. Caught between greedy British Marines, a vicious native tribe, and her own desire, Jane must choose between her dedication to science and the yearnings in her soul.
1. Forewords

(Disclaimer: This is a wholly original story based on the Tarzan books by Edgar Rice Burroughs.

ERB Inc. is the owner and successor in interest to all existing rights under copyright in the series of literary works authored by the late Edgar Rice Burroughs, as well as all rights in and to the literary titles and characters appearing therein, including rights under the United States Trademark Act and related state laws featuring the character identified as TARZAN, and is the owner, among other things, of the trademark TARZAN and to the symbols of origin associated with the character TARZAN.

As the title suggests, ERB Inc. did not in any way authorize or approve this retelling. Too bad.)

**Notes** (to reviewers mostly-BTW thanks for the feedback, keep it coming!):

While I'm aware of a new novel about Jane sanctioned by ERB, I have not read it. This is my totally own creation, and if it shares some things with the other novel, then GMTA. Besides, this one is FREE and way cooler.

I've read almost every ERB book in existence, and I own every Tarzan book (including the crossovers where Tarzan travels to other ERB worlds).

Although I consider this work to be an _homage_ to the Tarzan book series, it's written as I write most of my stuff.

I hope you enjoy it!

**NEW**: I updated Chapter 3 to add Robert to the expedition with Lt. Smith.

* * *

**JANE**

_The Unauthorized Autobiography_

by

Andrew Rosenberg

**Forewords**

June 8, 1905

Baltimore, Maryland

Desk of Dr. Archimedes Porter

Dear Editor,

The following account follows to the letter the manuscript my daughter Jane has left me, with the exception that I have changed certain names, dates, and locations to protect her and others involved in this story.

Please be mindful when you read this that Jane has been through a bit of an ordeal. My own recollections differ greatly from hers, but as she has departed on a new expedition without my knowledge or consent, I chose not to edit or provide commentary at this time, although I have included some of my thoughts at the end.

Please use your own judgment when considering the merits of this account. I include the note she left for me with the manuscript.

Professor Porter

Johns Hopkins University

Dear Father,

By the time you read this, I will already be gone. As you have not been forthcoming in your assistance to my endeavors, I am forced to take matters into my own hands.

I appreciate everything you've done for me, but as I feel that this is now my own life, I must accept the challenges it poses despite my delicate condition.

I intend to continue my studies at a later date, of course, but I understand if that is out of the question.

What I have done is to compile an account of my adventures, including certain events that I have not disclosed to you thus far that should shed light on my mindset. I hope you gain a true appreciation of why I must do what I must do.

Farewell, Father, and know that I will always hold you dear to my heart.

Jane


	2. Chapter 1

Chapter One

Hello, my gentle readers. My name is Jane Porter.

The grand adventure of which I write begins aboard a ship bound to the Dark Continent of Africa.

People say that I fall too young to embark on such a rigorous adventure. Those people do not know the Porters. We have emerged from vigorous stock, from the heart of Maryland, in the unexplored New Continent of North America.

My father and his father before him were adventurers, scientists seeking greater knowledge of the world around us, explorers of the New World, soldiers seeking fortune abroad. Not a one of them would shiver from a dangerous quest, and neither shall I.

I may be a maiden of seventeen, but that is practically marriageable, and I intend to see the world and its wonders before some man burdens me with his child.

(Well, that _was_ my intention.)

Now, on to the story.

_Africa._

Even now, as I inscribe my thoughts months after my adventure's conclusion, the name sends chills down my spine. Perhaps more so now than before.

_Africa. The Untamed Continent._

As I start my journey, I've poured over my father's collection innumerable times until I've memorized every curve of every river, the slope of each mountain, and the details of hundreds of species of the native flora. I am a walking encyclopedia of African knowledge.

Now, before you assume that I have no fear of the jungle, let me assure you that I do not approach this mission with the air of a simple schoolgirl, no. I have surpassed all my colleagues—male and female—in all forms of education, earning a baccalaureate degree one month prior to our departure. Yet my education has not been complete by any means, and fears abound.

I loathe an encounter with a plump python or a terrible tiger. I cringe at the thought of the clouds of fist-sized mosquitoes. I shiver at the contemplation of nights spent among the denizens of the forest, all craftily planning their next meal at our expense.

To assuage my fear, I have familiarized myself with the operation and aiming of numerous forms of firearms, from the mighty elephant express rifle, to the diminutive Colt sidearm.

I have spent many nights out under the stars, a fortnight in New Hampshire, a week in the wilds of Indiana, a score of days in the Arizona desert. I have prepared my constitution to the limits of fitness, conducting extensive calisthenics at every opportunity. In a steamship upon the Atlantic, there is little else BUT opportunity to run around the main deck like some sugar-infused toddler.

Ahh, I see your question. What about my interests among the opposite gender? Is a highly educated girl from Maryland destined to a life of spinsterhood, to a life without love, all in pursuit of academics and pure science?

Well, of course. I do so gladly. The pursuit of science, of knowledge, is above all others, and I have yet to meet a boy even in the remotest realm of my intellect—not to mention one who could best me in any number of pursuits, be it chess or archery or fencing, or even a simple sprint down the lane. It is quite obvious that my superior brain and body have endowed me with certain gifts that I cannot squander on such silly pursuits as boys, and yet—

No. I shall waste not one more second of thought upon the opposing gender. Despite the fact that father has conveniently invited a certain Messr. Robert Dingy of Britain, the heir to some fortune or other, and of course, his father Sir Lord Dingy (not their real names mind you) upon this voyage, shall not sway me in the least. Money and station have no interest to me—save to fund further scientific pursuits.

At first, I engaged Robert in friendly games such as cribbage, but upon defeat, he cast the board and all the pieces into the frothing sea. Yet, I catch him staring at me, studying as if I were some prize cow. We sit near each other at meals, his eyes always at the level of my bosom, a bosom which lies in the realm of "adequate" and certainly not gaze-grabbing. The nerve. Despite the tropical heat, I always button up to my neck. I've taken to always wearing my hair up and leaving my reading glasses upon my nose. I'd rather wear a ship's sail then spend another moment under his scrutiny. I almost consider a placing mask of grease upon my face to ruin my complexion, but a girl has her limits. I do take a certain pride in my appearance, plain as it may be.

One day, I pull myself away from the endless view of flat gray ocean to endure another meal where Robert attempts to glean my cup size through my blouse. Well, bully for him, I hope he writes many a tome upon my charms, average as they are.

At we eat our meal of dried eel and cold rice, Father announces we're only days from land, although I've already verified it to the limits of the trustworthiness of the maps. I've read every manuscript aboard this vessel five times each, and my mind aches to apply my knowledge to our target environs.

#

Another day dawns on the featureless gray plain known as the Atlantic Ocean. I peer out my porthole as I don my khakis. I've barely made myself minimally presentable when my father crashes in.

"My dear, you must help. Oh, it is such a disaster."

His breath wheezes through his throat, his hair is disheveled. My heart skips a beat, suddenly worried we've taken on water or blown an engine gasket, but I steady thrumming of the steam engine below shivers the floor.

Father has the uncanny ability to overreact to the slightest thing while completely ignoring true dangers. He once was so preoccupied with his studies that I almost burned the kitchen down. His only comment to me was to clean the soot from my face, as guests were due to arrive.

"Dad, calm thyself." My poor father is rubbing his hands and almost shaking. "What travails you at such an early hour?"

"My spectacles. I have searched high and low but they have disappeared. What am I to do? This ship is ten decks high and eighty yards long. The nearest optometrist is five thousand miles away. Please, my dear, you must help me search. How can I function without them?"

I cannot help but giggle, which only bedraggles him more.

His face grows cross. "How can you laugh—oh."

He reaches up and pulls his spectacles off his brow. But instead of relaxing, he slumps onto my cot and his head drops to his hands.

"Father, what's wrong?" I rush to his side and place my hand upon his shoulder.

He shakes his head. "We should have arrived a week ago."

Ah. I comprehend his conundrum. "Dad, you know I've checked and rechecked the navigator's calculations. I've logged the provisions, and we're fine." I rub his shoulder. "It won't be long before we're cataloguing new species, exploring the untracked jungle, and have our feet on solid ground."

"Yes, yes, I know."

He looks so forlorn.

I know what's brought on this sudden melancholy. Actually—_who_. It's the giant white elephant in the room, the one about which we must never speak. Our albatross has nothing to do with advancing the cause of Science or inventing the next new propulsion system.

I seek to change his focus. "I know—have you completed your star mapping of the southern sky? What about preparing your expedition cases for the landing?"

He shakes his head. I must divert his mind from his contemplation of the "Dark Times" as we call them. It's where he mind wanders when there's no significant stimulation. It's why he panics when he cannot locate glasses that perch directly upon his head.

"What say we go fishing, see if we can nab some new specimens? I've been charting the currents and ocean temperatures, and perhaps we've entered a new faunal zone."

His eyes perk up. "Yes, yes, quite intriguing. I should endeavor to pursue it at once. Hurry and get dressed." He rises, kisses me on the top of the head, and shuffles off.

After the door closes, I heave a sigh. Another crisis averted.

As I'm left alone in my cabin, my ownrecollections of the Dark Times resurface, casting a net of melancholy upon my soul. I pray we reach shore soon.

#

Father and I are examining some fish specimens father has collected, some red-fin scarp and a longish willyfish, neither remarkable, but at least they are hitherto unknown varieties we can catalog. Father measures while I draw illustrations in our log books.

Despite the warm tropical breeze coasting over the gunwale, coupled with the high equatorial sun, my mood remains one of wistfulness, as I have not seen my native Maryland in some two months. Now I am not enamored with the finer things, preferring a simple horseback ride to a fine coach, and the quiet company of friends over boisterous merrymakings, but what I wouldn't give now for a coach ride through a riotous crowd, anything to shake the endless monotony of a sea voyage.

"Look," calls Robert from the bow. He beckons toward us, pointing down to the water.

I race over, desperate for any interruption of our tedious inspection of fish.

Robert points down to the sea. "There."

Four sleek shapes bob in and out of the water next to our prow, seeming to race our ship as she cuts through the frothy Atlantic.

"Dolphins! Father, come quick!"

In moments, the entire complement of our expedition rushes to the bow, shrieking and gasping at the sight. The dolphins appear to spot us, and I swear one winks and blows a puff of steam at me.

"Let me at the buggers." Robert's father, the so-called Lord Dingy from Alberts-Upon-Edgewood has fetched his express rifle and sights down the long barrel at the poor creatures.

"No!" I scream.

Lord Dingy blasts away, giggling with every shot.

I see red.

Now I am not one to confront my elders, especially ones with silly English titles. However—this man has disturbed my sensibilities.

"Cease your fire immediately," I command, but a girl's voice against rifle blasts, wind, water, and our steam engine proves useless. So I do the next best thing. I throw our prized red-fin scarp directly at his cranium.

It hits with a satisfying _thwap_. The man drops his rifle into the ocean. Part of me imagines a dolphin snatching it in his jaws and firing back.

Shall I interrupt at this point to mention that Sir Dingy is about as mad as a dog bitten by a mouse?

"You," he growls, pointing a finger at my nose. "Have you lost your senses? Officer, see this scullery maid confined to quarters at once while I consider charges."

"Now hold on a second," says Father.

"You control your brat, Professor. I told you no women upon this voyage and you insisted. Now she's cost me my best rifle."

The Marine officer looks between them. I place my hand on my hips and raise my nose. "No, I demand my trial at once. This man was firing upon poor defenseless animals. I shall prove my innocence at the highest court upon this vessel."

Lord Dingy eyes me with fire coupled with some intense desire to (I believe) cast me after his rifle. I must admit I quailed a tad, perhaps my defiance provoking him to harsher measures.

"Now, now." Father holds his hands up. "No need for trials. We'll compensate you for your loss. I'll speak to the young one about her behavior."

"Father, what about his crime? Shall his wanton destruction of wildlife go unpunished?"

Lord Dingy smirks. "This is the high seas, lassie. There be no laws but what we earn by our might. All the animals in the world must learn that their masters, mankind, will not tolerate their insolence any longer. Replacing my rifle is hardly sufficient. I believe a thorough cleaning of our quarters is more appropriate."

I debate which viscous fluid might be unbalanced in his head. Perhaps a dissection is in order. Unfortunately, he is no cadaver…not yet.

"I shall rather clear a pigsty than your room."

"Very well," says Father.

"What?" I turn him. Father shrugs at me. I step to him and speak in his ear. "Father, you saw what he did. Why should _I_ pay for _his crimes_? This is so unfair. This man is in your employ. He should be cleaning _our_ rooms."

Father tries to meet my gaze but fails. "Jane, please. You struck a gentlemen. He's within his rights to have you lashed. Consider this his mercy."

"Mercy? What mercy? That man is no abler to show mercy than—"

"Enough." Father turns and smiles at Dingy. "She will do it. The matter is settled."

I turn and run before any tears of my father's betrayal can be seen by that bastard.

#

Back in my cabin, I shoo away Esmeralda, our housemaid. I know she's all excited to see Africa as she's of African descent through the unfortunate slave trade we recently ended, but I can't stand her right now.

Yet, it's not her who I'm throwing-hats mad at right now.

It's the person who enters next.

"Jane, my dear—"

"I don't want to hear it." I bury my face in my pillow.

I shouldn't be mad. I know the story, that my father, a well-established professor, became enamored with she-who-shall-not-be-named, the brightest student he'd ever taught. He was in his forties, she was but twenty.

Now he's closing on sixty, a doddering old fool, stuck with his only child, a precocious seventeen-year-old whip.

That's is how he appears to people on the outside. I don't see my father that way at all. To me, he's a brilliant man of untold genius, dedicated to his studies and to his students—and of course to me.

Yet, when it comes to the important stuff, he's as flat as a hat sat upon by a rhinoceros. (Which I hope to see soon. The rhino, not the flattened hat).

Sometimes I sit and imagine what a real man might be like. Gallant, brave, eager to hop to my defense. Not a fawning fob like Robert, not a belligerent bully like Lord Dingy. And certainly not completely obtuse like my father. Fearless in the face of enemies, but ready to hold me when I need it.

Not that I need it, of course. I'm a modern American girl, and "Independence and Freedom" is our motto.

"Leave me alone," I say from my pillow.

Dad stands there like he always does, sort of wavering. A ghost. Not comforting, not scolding.

"Fine," I say, simply to remove him from my presence. It's a worse punishment than anything Lord Dingy can dream up. "I'll be there soon. Now go!"

Dad hops away. _Away._

Like I say, there's always this elephant in the room. And it seems like with each year, the elephant grows bigger, and the room only gets smaller.

#

Well, Robert of Avon-Upon-Blackberries has made it his personal duty to supervise my scrubbing of his quarters. Which are stifling. Sweat drips down my nose, quite unladylike. His eyes follow my every move.

Our maid Esmeralda had provided me with the soaps and oils and brushes, laughing at me, thinking me some tender flower unable to cope with such an onerous task. But I am a Porter, made of stern stuff, well, sterner than what my father displayed today.

It's not that the task is onerous. It's that it's _odorous_.

Like me be quite frank here. Men stink. The stench permeates their clothes, which are foul beyond compare, to their bedding—even worse. Some of the other expeditionists have hired Esmeralda's services and my estimation of the woman is growing with each bed stain I scrub. It is a growing theorem in my head that humans on the whole are filthy beasts.

I discover all the leftover pies and cakes they simply threw in a box or under a bed. No wonder I hear the scratching of rats and cockroaches at night.

None of those things disgust me as much as Robert himself, a nose-browsing, crotch-scratching, and drool-dripping slob.

Is my father seriously considering a match with this boy for me? He has all the intellectual curiosity of a snail and the manners to match.

"If you are hot, you may remove your shirt," he says. "I hear it is the custom among the natives. We should at least attempt to emulate their behavior."

I swallow a sudden retch and ensure my blouse is fully fastened. The day Robert sees one inch of my flesh is the day that he sees one inch of my boot heel in his gut. I'm not unprepared.

Let me just say that if Robert is a prime example of the eligible males in this world, then I will happily travel into spinsterhood and devote the full measure of my life's effort into scientific studies—one of which may be the examination of what in the world is necessary to create a clean, well-groomed man of impeccable manners.

"Did you not hear me?" he says.

"You are serious." I place my brush upon the floor and meet his gaze which wavers.

He regains his strength and stares at me. "Of course."

"I believe the men in these parts are fond of wearing bones of their deceased loved ones through their septums," I respond.

Robert stares at me like a horse stares at a cloud.

I point to my face. "The middle part of the nose? Think of a milk cow. If I must endure this custom, then in all fairness I believe you should too. Well?"

His brows drop into a snarl. "Do not toy with me, girl." He steps closer. Perhaps he plans to intimidate me with his ample paunch.

I rise to my full height, a not unimpressive 5-foot-6.

I have a theory, about life. I'm not well-versed as yet in the mental arts of psychology or phrenology, but I do believe that events in our past define us to some extent. I've read several papers on the subject. I believe one of two things happen when a person faces adversity: they either grow stronger from it, or they allow the adversity to weaken them.

And I am no stranger to adversity.

Robert lifts a chubby finger and points it at my nose. For once his eyes are not focused upon my assets. "Listen to me, Porter. Before this trip is over, you will be mine. Whether as my wife or as my slave, the choice is yours. It's become obvious that your father is no obstacle to my desires. If you come willingly, I shall see to it that your father's chair is endowed. If not, I will make it my task to ruin the man. Am I making myself clear?"

Perhaps some women would quail, some beg for his mercy. Other might deflect, laugh it off. A few might rise to the insults, attempt to gouge the poor miscreant's eyes from his face. I'm not far from the last.

But I am not those women. I simply raise an eyebrow, cock my head slightly, and sniff. "You will do no such thing. Are you even a man?"

Perhaps I could have chosen more carefully, for his countenance changes to a deep ocher, followed by a brilliant crimson, while he forms fists and breathes ever faster like some bull about to charge.

The door rattles and shakes, and then a head pops in. "Land ho! Land ho! Hurry, we must make hurry."

I turn to the door, escaping the situation before Robert explodes like an overheated steam engine.

"This isn't over," he calls to me as I leave.

Oh how I wish those words weren't true.


	3. Chapter 2

**Chapter Two**

Excitement clings to my body as I watch the verdant coastline of the Dark Continent slip by. Seafaring birds trail our ship, cawing and clacking above us. The crew is busy with preparation, and Robert is skulking about, far from my view.

Even from miles offshore, the scent of earth and trees and flowers cuts though the salty odor that has been my constant companion. We spot no signs of habitation, only sandy beaches and towering trees. For hours, we hug the coastline, searching for some safe harbor upon which to attempt a landing.

I peer through a scope at the jungle shimmering in the distance. I see nothing but trees. Dense, impenetrable trees. Occasionally I spot a bird or two as a speck. I'm eying a small clearing when something runs through it.

"Father!"

"What is it, Jane?"

Father has his own scope.

"Over there. I think I spotted a man…running."

"Nonsense. This is the deep jungle."

I peer through the scope for several minutes without another sighting. Then, as I give up, I see another flash of movement. "There. There he is again, East-southeast." The figure disappears. "I think…I think he's following us."

Father puts his scope down. "What? Impossible. Have you lost your senses? We're traveling at a good ten knots. No human can run through thick jungle at those speeds."

I search some more, but I cannot find the figure again. "What if he's lost? What if he's a shipwreck survivor? Shouldn't we at least attempt contact?"

"What if he's a pirate, or some naked savage? Jane, we can't idly chat with every character we meet upon this journey. Come, time to pack our things. The captain has informed me that he intends to set us down at the nearest opportunity. He'll need to go restock supplies as soon as possible."

I spend the afternoon alone in my cabin, locked to prevent Robert from pressing his case. I haven't told Father about his threats. I don't want Father to worry, he seems to have enough on his plate. We must prepare to bring everything ashore to create our home for the next several weeks.

I can't help but peer through my porthole which fortunately faces the coast, dreaming about all the wonders we're soon to discover. A dream born during the Dark Times is about to come to realization, to follow in the footsteps of Sir Darwin and his kind, to make new discoveries among the apes and gorillas that could lead us toward discovery of the greatest secret of all—the birthplace of mankind.

I plan to embark upon my own quest: I seek the mythical Red-spotted Pearl Salamander. A tiny beast with reputedly amazing powers. Hunted to near extinction, I pray I am able to at least sight one of the buggers, although capturing an intact specimen would be a grand accomplishment.

Of course, men like Lord Dingy have different goals. Instead of studying the classifications of animals and plants, they are engorged with treasure lust, consulting maps leading to ancient cities and forgotten stashes. I pity them, slaves to their greed. But without their financial assistance, this journey would not be possible. Although I suppose in a way I am greedy to uncover the jungle's secrets, but I intend to share them with the world, not lock them in some dusty tomb.

I hear the engine slow and the ship turns toward shore, heading for a small river outlet. I tremble with excitement, almost two years of planning coming to fruition. Shouts echo down the metallic halls.

We assemble on deck, the various scientific and nefarious expeditions, as well as those with other business concerns. Even the crew of ruffians congregate, leaning over the rail.

At first I had thought the crew all brave marines until one day I discovered the ugly truth. They are mostly felons, consigned to work off their debts to society during dangerous sea voyages. I hadn't given it much thought as they kept to the machine rooms, but every encounter left me chilled, even more than with Robert, as I have doubts that they would use threats. They would simply take what they want from me given the opportunity.

I am no naïve soul. I am well aware of the proclivities of baser men. And these men are a mix of the worst American, English, Irish, and German stock. Out upon the deck I feel their eyes upon me.

Another group gathers, what I call our "support team," a combination of trailblazers and porters, some freed slaves, and a couple Indians from the plains, expert in tracking and trapping animals, a concept with which I hold no great ease.

We have no horses or other pack animals, worried not only that we couldn't feed them during the journey, but that we might be forced to abandon them in Africa and subject them to the horrors of the predators that lurked in the shadows. So we shall rely on the burly porters to carry our supplies.

The captain gives the order.

"Drop anchor!"

The ship soon echoes with the metallic grind of the anchor descending, followed by the _whump _as it enters the calm sea. I wish to scurry down the chains like a rat and swim to shore, but I hold my excitement at arm's length. Sailors begin lowering dinghies into the water and then pass the supplies down.

The first on shore is to be an armed contingent of British Royal Marines, the men who keep the felonious seamen distant from the passengers. They lumber down to the landing craft, bayonet-tipped rifles strapped to their backs. I watch with the deepest envy as they row their craft toward the mouth of the river and turn to a sandy beach. It feels like the entire ship is holding our breath, as if the moment they step upon shore, a horde of vicious savages will exterminate our brave defenders.

Nothing untoward happens. Four Marines disembark, and two begin rowing the dinghy back to the ship. The four men unstrap their rifles and walk around the small spit of sand that borders the rivers.

In all my life I've never been more knee-knocked than in the hour it takes for our turn to come up. The sun threatens to dip into the ocean behind us, turning our day into almost instant night at this latitude.

"Please, Father, can't they hurry? If we do not reach shore, we'll have to spend another night on this dreadful ship, and all our belongings are packed away."

Father _harumphs_ and rubs his long white whiskers. "Don't be in such a hurry. We are in a treacherous position, exposed on the beach like this. Our first night could be the most perilous until we establish palisades and other protective measures."

I begin to chew my nails, a filthy habit, I know, but what's a girl to do when even _Robert _travels to shore before us? I spot movements in the trees, but at this distance and low light they are vague. Columns of smoke spring up from watch fires. Whoever is rowing back the dinghy is oh so slow. It touches our flank just as the sun touches the horizon.

"Come on, Dad! Hurry!"

"No, no, let's stay aboard just this last night." He tries to pull me from the rail.

"What? No!" I'm embarrassed to admit that my voice rises to a whiny pitch. Then my reason takes control. "You would have me on this vessel full of scurrilous seamen with no Marines on guard? With very few witnesses to any malicious activity? Have you seen the slopes of their frontal lobes?"

Father eyes the boat below and glances at the ruddy sun. "Excellent observation, my dear. Let's not tarry."

If I thought waiting for our turn was excruciating, it's nothing compared to the agonizing minutes I spend aboard the landing craft, the porters tired from rowing. I almost stomp a hole in the floorboards in frustration. I want to feel the shores of Africa under my feet, have solid ground beneath me.

The sun disappears halfway to shore, and now our only light is the campfires. The rowers appear to have given up the go, dipping slower and slower.

I snap.

I dive off the boat into the warm salty water. It feels glorious. I hear howls each time my head surfaces: "Allig—", "Croco—", "Shark—", "Jaaaannnee!"

I care little. It's now a race between me and the landing craft, but I have so much energy I might be able just to run on top of the ocean if I tried. I pull my head up and look at the shore. The Marines stand with their rifles pointed at me as if I'm some sea monster.

"Don't shoot," cries Father from somewhere behind.

I plow my head back in and stroke. Waves form around me and carry me gently onto the shore.

I hug Africa, wet sand and roaring surf.

The men open fire, rifles crackling.

Behind me, a gargantuan crocodile rears up, snaps at my legs, and then sulks back toward the river, the bullets causing no obvious signs of damage.

I scramble up the beach like he's still after me.

_Welcome to Africa_, I think.

# My clothes are hung out to dry, our tent which my father and I will share is properly hoisted, and I'm sinking my teeth into the most delicious fruit I have ever tasted. Juices run down my face and drop into the loamy turf under my toes.

Esmeralda's working on setting up our tent for sleep. She'll be in the servant's tent next to ours with a few of the other servants. Esmeralda's fairly new to our household, not even our main maid, but she's the only one without family and willing to travel.

"Mmm, mmm, Miss Janie, this sure is good eating. Like a watermelon wrapped in an apple."

She's actually only a few years my senior, uneducated, simple, but no pushover. I once made the mistake of trying to lord it over her, to give her my chores, raise my voice to her, but she simply eyed me like I was still in swaddling clothes. Upon which I began to stomp and scream at her like I _was_ a toddler. But Esmeralda shook her head and clicked her tongue. "Y'all will show me respect or I don't care what your pappi does to me, I will whip yo' behind 'til you bleed from yo' dirty bits."

She meant it. After that, I treated her with due respect, as I should have from the start.

One day Esmeralda confided in me and spoke of her life on the streets of Baltimore, begging for food after her parents abandoned her when they discovered the lure of gin joints. An aunt located her and took her in, but not before she had become tough in a way I only can dream about. In a way I frankly fear.

She would have broken Robert's fingers if he dared touch her.

"Isn't this exciting," I say to her when she enters the tent.

Esmeralda sniffs. "Same old work, here as in Bal-tee-more. But we ain't got no sniffers there."

She's nodding to the forest, where eyes peer out of the darkness, coupled with occasional snuffling and rustling. I've been trying to avoid the sight, but as each minute passes, the black forest reveals more witnesses to our ministrations.

"Damn," she says, rubbing her shoulders. "Bayou's one thing. This a whole 'nother brand of beastly."

We eat a meal of dried fish and what local fruits the porters dare to gather in the dark. Father and I are called on to identify edible species, but in the darkness, we can't always be sure.

We retire to our tent, fastening the flap against the balmy night.

"I'm so excited I can't sleep," I say to Dad. All manner of chirps and cries fill the night.

"You just close your eyes. Tomorrow's a big day. We'll need our rest."

The rambunctious sounds of the night keep me awake. I miss the dull thumping of the ship's engines, although I can just hear the whooshing of the surf along the beach.

A mighty roar of some large predator rumbles the tent. I bolt up straight. And then comes the strangest cry of all, some forlorn howl of some dark creature, a howl of pain and torment and vengeance.

I don't sleep much beyond that.

#

I must have dozed off, but suddenly I'm wide awake with the knowledge that something has entered the tent. The campfires are low, casting little light through our canvas walls, but I still make out a figure lurking above me.

I scream.

The figure vanishes. In an instant the camp is alive, men running, shots fired into the night.

"What is it? What?"

I pull my mosquito net close. "There was someone in here. A man. Look."

Was it Robert? The flaps to our tent hang loose.

The encampment groggily assembles.

A Lieutenant Fox approaches us. "Apologies, apparently there _was_ an intruder in our camp. A local, probably after our supplies. We shall root him out come morning if he is about."

"You had better keep my daughter safe," Father grumbles.

"Sir, we are in an untamed jungle, far from the laws of man. We shall endeavor our best, but we are a few against the hordes of the jungle. You should have considered her safety before you left the shores of your homeland. Now I have a perimeter to secure. Good night."

Needless to say I spend the balance of the night with my hands on my Colt Navy revolver, nestled up against my double-barreled shotgun. I place tin cans near the tent flap so any further intruder could not enter so easily.

#

The sun zips into the sky on a glorious morning, our first full day on the shores of the Mysterious Land. Mankind has explored the further reaches of the planet, but little is known about the deepest jungles of our world, from the Amazon, Southeast Asia, or here, in the equatorial regions of Africa.

We intend to correct this ignorance.

You may be wondering if we are daft, or somehow unaware of the dangers that face us. We are no fools. But I must admit to some trepidation now that my feet step on unknown paths, now that strange calls of unknown animals fill the air, and now that we have had a curious visitor in the depths of the night. Whoever he was, he certainly has proven that we are not alone upon this expedition.

Night has cooled the air only slightly, and the equatorial sun jumps into the sky with a fury. I'm donning an unsightly pith helmet, which only intensifies the heat. My arms are burdened with notebooks. I follow my father through jungle paths, stopping every few feet to record some observation, whether it be a possible new genus of plant, a curious insect, or some crawling thing, keeping a constant eye out for my precious salamander.

The trees seem to climb a mile above us. Colorful birds roost high above. My hands record everything. Counts, sizes, shapes, hues, all to be studied at our leisure back in the states. Right now it is a matter of pure observation, as accurately and completely as I can.

But Father is making it impossible.

"Look Jane. _Species fliesis. _Oh. _Wannis nammis_. I count seventeen petals on this one. Oh, look at the size of this ant. See if you can spot its nest. Wait, here's a _Pithecis nithisis_. Come, look."

And on and on. Two porters trail us, carrying a trunk which contains our specimen jars and our lunch. Trailing them is Esmeralda who refused to be abandoned in our camp.

The balance of the camp had set out in the morning to locate and build our palisade, leaving only a few behind to guard our supplies. The ship's due to sail by evening, leaving us at the mercy of whatever lurks in these trees.

All through the day, I have this growing sensation on the back of my neck that we're being watched. Whether it's a face in the trees, footsteps in the woods, or strange growls, the feeling is uncanny. Something out there thinks of us as luncheon meat.

Speaking of which, we break for supper in a small clearing. While the porters and Esmeralda prepare our lunch, complemented by the various fruits we have discovered, Father and I wander around.

"Look, Jane, _Finidicus rotiticus_." He points to a drooping purple flower.

I sigh. "Dad, enough, I need a break." My fingers are cramping from all the writing. "Can I just take a walk without taking notes? Aren't we here to enjoy ourselves for once? We'll have plenty of time."

"Quite right. Let us head toward the ocean where the trees aren't so thick."

I leave our notebooks and pencils behind. For the first time I relax. Father jumps on ahead to study an outcropping of flowers. I'm sure he's planning our entire afternoon.

Through a break in the trees I spot a distant mountain, partly obscured by clouds. I make a mental note that the mountain might contain valuable microclimates based on elevation. It appears quite distant, perhaps a two-day journey, longer without pack animals.

I stumble upon a stand of wild berries and pop the luscious fruit into my mouth. From nowhere, a monkey jumps onto the trail and chatters at me. He's gesticulating and stomping. He springs away, disappearing as quickly as he arrived.

"Father! Come quick, I found a monkey! Now where are you, monkey?"

The little imp's nowhere to be seen, neither high nor low. Neither is Father. Curses.

I step through the brush in the direction I believe Father travelled. I enter another clearing, and the monkey appears again, this time with a large red fruit. He chatters away and holds up the fruit over his head.

"What are you up to?"

He walks to me tentatively.

"Ah, you want to make friends?" Hardly believable. His eyes are in constant motion, looking in all directions, but his voice is soft, almost cooing. I reach for the fruit and he hands it to me. Just like that.

"You want me to eat this? You're not a snake, are you?" I move it to my mouth. He screams and waves his arms, then makes a curious rubbing motion with his hands. "You—you want me to peel it? What's wrong with your teeth?"

I dig my nails into the rind and pull it off. The moment the peel drops from my hands, the little fiend jumps and snatches the fruit, then bolts away. This time I follow his motion as he uses vines and branches to climb up the tree. He devours the fruit as fast as his mouth can manage, all the while looking around. He burps and scatters away.

I stand transfixed. "Father! Where are you? I think I found someone's pet monkey."

With the sun now dominating the high sky, I've lost all sense of direction. I wander this way and that, and no matter which way I turn, the forest grows denser. I battle the thick stems and floppy leaves. "If I can only find a trail, I'm sure it will lead me back to camp. Where is that mountain I saw? I can use that as a reference point. Must I climb a tree?"

I try. I fail. The tree trunks are slick, and my fashionable boots hold no purchase. I break a carefully maintained nail.

"Father!" I rip off my boots. This time my toes have traction and I hoist myself up the knotty bole. I reach one thick branch and another. I spot new and interesting creatures not found on the ground, but I pay them no mind. Fifty feet reveals no view. I aim for one hundred. A rustling stops my progress.

I spot Father, two hundred paces away, lost in his examinations. I also see that he has made a special friend. But unlike my curious monkey, there is a huge beast trailing him, with a thick mane and paws the size of a small dog.

The lion is only yards behind him, sniffing Dad's trail. Has the beast seen him yet? Should I warn him? Or would that attract the vicious marauder?

My heart's crawling out of my chest. I look for something to throw, and my hand falls on the revolver at my side. I chose the Navy for today's expedition. I pull it out and take careful aim at the monster. One shot at this range would be tricky at best. What if I only graze him, and send him into a mad rage? He could tear Father apart. And how can I destroy such a magnificent animal?

The lion does something strange. He sits. He lifts a paw and sniffs at it. He plops down on the ground and proceeds to lick his paw. His mouth opens wide in a huge yawn, and then he lays his head on the ground.

I lower my pistol and then holster it. That lion's not stalking at all. I begin to slither back down the tree, keeping one eye on the lazy lion and one on Father who's completely oblivious to the show.

The lion rolls over on his side. Dad shakes a small tree for some unfathomable reason. I want to cry, "no!" but the lion only sniffs the air. If Sir Beast catches Father's scent, it's all over. After numerous bumps and scratches, I touch ground. I reach for my boots but stop when a snake slithers into one of them.

I shake my head and set off toward my dad. If I can reach him, I can at least direct him away from the daydreaming den master.

Down on the ground, it's hard to see through the ever-present brush. This isn't the sagebrush of the American plains, this is like a florist shop gone wild. I don't dare hack with a machete lest I alert the monster so I push my way to the clearing containing my father.

I shove through the final bunch of plants only to stand face-to-face with the creature. He eyes me. I eye him. I stifle a scream and an urge to wet my drawers. His tail twitches. I probably should not make eye contact with him but I can't help it; he's beautiful. He sniffs the air.

"Well, hello there," I say, quiet and calm, itching to run back into the brush screaming my head off.

The lion paws the ground. Is that a threat? Idle investigation?

"Do you mind if I pass you by?" I start to my left, feeling the ground with my naked toes.

He eyes me. I step away slowly. He follows. I fight the urge to make any sudden moves. Now he's loping next to me like he's a dog and I'm his master. Or he hasn't decided if I'm tasty enough.

It takes me but a second to locate Father who's somehow gotten himself tangled in vines.

"Father, turn around slow. No sudden moves."

Father looks to me and his eyes go wide. His hand travels to his gun belt but I hold up my hand.

"Don't. He's friendly." I hope. Maybe he's just playing with his food.

Dad shakes his head slow. "There's no such thing. Lions are savage beasts."

I suddenly want to prove him wrong. I have a sense about the creature, something about his old eyes, or his lazy carriage.

"Nonsense. This one's as cuddly as a kitten."

I turn to the creature and extend a hand. In one motion, he could easily chomp it off and have it for dinner. Slowly, I approach him while he peers at me with yellow eyes. "There you go. You're just a big kitty, aren't you?"

"Jane," Father whistles through clenched teeth. "Jane! Have you gone daft?"

My hand contacts the beast's mane. It's smooth, like hair. I drop my hand to his massive head and scratch. "Good kitty. You're such a good kitty."

He purrs. By "purrs", I mean rumbles in a way that should have evacuated my innards.

"Look, Father, he's an old one. I bet he's been run out of his tribe and is all alone."

"That would make him exceptionally hungry."

"Have you seen his belly? He's not wanting for food." He is by no means sleek.

Dad's cowering behind a tree. I beckon to him but he shakes his head. Part of me is saying that I should join him, but instead, I pull some cured meat from my sack. The lion slurps it off my hand without harming me, as if he's been fed this way before.

"Jane, please, this is not right. Human and lions are enemies."

"Who says? A little while ago I helped a monkey peel some fruit." The lion sniffs at me, searching for more.

"What? How?"

"He asked me to."

"Um, dear, have you eaten any green or purple fruit? Tasted any amphibians? Swallowed mushrooms? And where are your boots?"

"I've eaten nothing, why? My boots are full of snakes."

"Snakes? Oh no, none of this is right. Jane, listen to me. You've been infected with the delirium. Probably from an insect bite on your foot."

I furrow my brow. "I don't _feel_ delirious." I stroke the lion's mane and scratch his nose. "But I am a bit lost. Do you know the way back to camp?"

"Jane, please, step away from the lion. He's old and confused. He probably doesn't remember that you're food. Come on girl, come here, come to your daddy." He beckons to me.

I glare at him. "I'm seventeen. That doesn't work anymore."

The lion picks up his head, his demeanor suddenly changed. I feel his muscles tense. He turns his head to the side, studying something. He opens his mouth and lets out a roar that shakes the very trees. I might have actually lost my innards this time. The mighty creature bounds off into the forest, suddenly the fierce beast we'd always heard about.

Father rushes me and hugs me to death. "Jane, Jane, what were you thinking? We can't take these kinds of risks."

"Dad, he was only a few feet away from you. I had to do something. I have my gun ready, but I'm not going to kill him if he's not threatening."

Dad's shaking like a flag on a mast.

"Dad. Dad! Ssh. Everything's fine. Dad?"

He makes me hold his hand all the way back to our day camp.

Esmeralda doesn't believe a word of our story. "Bet it was nothing but no fleabitten bobcat. Shucks."

#

We follow the trampled path leading from our original camp to wherever the Marines chose. My heart sinks to find that our ship has sailed for some port to replenish its stock of coal and fresh water. The sun dips low behind us as we trudge over broken branches and around downed trees, like a herd of giant elephants had passed through.

"It's our escape route," says Father. "A clear path to the ocean. Don't worry, in this climate the vegetation will recover in no time."

I must admit my arms and legs begin to ache, and Esmeralda starts stumbling. Despite all my rigorous training, Africa is proving most tiring. I let Esmeralda lean on me for support. "Not much longer now, I hope."

"Sure, chile. Maybe next time we just ride yo' bobcat friend."

Just as the sun touches the horizon, we spot the new camp set up on a hill. Trees have been cleared around it. We stumble half-exhausted up the hill that affords us a grand view of the surrounding forest.

Once dark, all the sightseers and scientists gather around a campfire. I keep my distance from Robert. We talk about our day.

It comes to Lord Dingy's turn. "Another day with no sightings of big game. We hear the blasted things in the distance, howling and roaring, but perhaps our activity has frightened them off."

"Well Miss Jane here says she done seen a lion," volunteers Esmeralda.

I shoot her a look of horror.

"Tell us, tell us," everyone says in a chorus.

I swallow. Esmeralda looks contrite, hopefully realizing the mess she's thrown me into.

"Yes, a large male. He seemed quite friendly. He allowed me to pet him."

"Oh come off it," says Robert. "You liar."

"I'm not lying! Father saw everything."

"Well," says Father, "yes, um."

Dad's growing more useless by the minute.

"Dad? Tell them."

"Yes, we encountered a large beast—"

"Where? Which direction?" Lord Dingy seems ready to grab his rifle.

"He ran off," I say. "And you're not going to catch him."

"The hell you say. First thing tomorrow we will pursue this animal."

I stand up. "Over my dead body." I turn and leave, sickened by their blood lust. The thought of them hurting that old lion makes my vital fluids boil.

I wander to our tent, exhaustion claiming my bones.

#

I'm not sure how long I'm asleep, but I'm awakened by a curious sound. It's a chittering, squeaking. Dad's snoring in his cot. The dim campfires shadow the mounds of books in our room. I walk to the flap and carefully poke my head out, trying not to disturb the bottles and cans that line the entrance.

I see him, my little monkey friend (or one just like him). He's glancing around in his nervous way, touching one tent and then scrambling to another. It strikes me that he might be hungry.

I snatch a fruit out of a sack and step out of the tent in my nightclothes.

"Psst!"

The monkey nearly jumps out of his skin. He sees it's me and carefully shambles over, while glancing back toward nearby trees. His tail twitches in the air. I hold out the fruit.

"You want this?"

The monkey swats away the fruit and grabs my pant leg. He seems urgent, scared. He pulls on my safari pants.

Something clandestine is occurring, and it piques my curiosity. Yes, I know all about the saying with reference to cats and their many lives, but we're here in Africa for adventure, so I allow him to lead me.

As the palisades have not been built, it is a simple matter to slip through the shadows. After all, the guard seeks to keep intruders out, not keep us in. A large gibbous moon has risen, so I can see just a bit. Part of me hopes he's not leading me to my slaughter, but I did strap the Navy revolver over my safari attire.

The little fellow leads me through a stream and along a trail that winds up another hill. We stop near the summit, waiting for what, I cannot imagine.

I hear a rustle near me. I grip my revolver. A lion steps out of the shadows. My heart quails. But it is the same monster as earlier. He yawns and sniffs a tree bole. There is something behind him. Some _one_.

"Take hand off gun," says a heavily accented voice, a man. "You no fear."

"I shall be the judge of what I fear," I reply, attempting to keep my voice as steady and fear-free as possible. However, I did remove my hand and cross my arms against my chest.

The man spoke out of deep shadows. "Your people must go. Leave."

"Who are you?"

"You English woman?"

"No, I am Jane Porter, of the Baltimore Porters." He didn't respond. "From America. And who might you be?"

"My name John Clayton. Speak French?"

"_Oui_. Of course."

He begins speaking in French, which I shall indicate with italics.

"_Oh thank goodness. My English is halting at best. Now, let me make myself clear. This is my home, my country. Your people have come uninvited, and in my experience, this always leads to bloodshed._"

He steps a tiny bit from the shadows. I see a tall form, muscular, with a mane of long hair shadowing his face. I shiver. "_I assure you, Monsignor Clayton, that we are here on a peaceful mission of scientific exploration._"

The monkey climbs on the man's naked shoulder. I spot a long, wicked knife at his side. The lion starts chewing on some grass.

"_No one comes to Africa for peace. You are here for rape and pillage. I will not allow it. You have one day to gather your belongings and depart. Otherwise, I will be forced to act._"

He sounds serious. A few things click in my mind. "_Wait. You were the one chasing our boat. You sent your monkey and lion to scare me yesterday, didn't you?_"

"_One last thing, Jane."_ He steps full out from the shadows and brushes his hair back. I see his full visage, angular, with deep-set eyes, and surprisingly, he's clean-shaven. Furthermore, one thing strikes me—he's a boy, hardly a year or two older than I.

"_When the others leave, you shall stay._"

He stares at me with hypnotizing eyes. I start to nod, and then shake my head. "What?" I say in English.

"You be my mate."

I think my jaw drops to the ground and the monkey carries it away.

"Listen you—you wild man. I am nobody's 'mate'. I—"

Before I can finish, he vanishes. It's like he reached up and pulled a shade cord which carries him up into the trees.

"Tell them, Jane," he calls from above. "Tell them leave or die."

"Wait! Come back here, you!"

Nothing. The monkey and lion have vanished as well.


	4. Chapter 3

**Chapter Three**

As I approach the camp—which sticks out in the night like a pimple, visible from miles away—men jump out of the night and aim weapons at me.

"Halt! Who goes there?"

"It is I," I say. "Jane Porter."

"We found her!" One man blows a whistle. "You are in heaps of trouble, lass. Come."

A British Marine grabs me by the arm. "Hey! Let me go!" He drags me back up to camp and to my tent, his fingers a painful vice on my arm.

"Stay here. Do not attempt to escape."

Angry yelling echoes from nearby. Footsteps approach and the Marine Master Captain Mann enters the hut carrying a lamp. He eyes me down a long nose. Bushy brows overhang weather-worn eyes.

"Explain yourself," he says.

I swallow. "Where's my father?"

"We're questioning him, too. Now what the blazes were you doing out there?" He crosses his plump arms. Curls of smoke from a beefy cigar fill the hut with sweet tobacco scent.

"I was doing what comes naturally. Do you know what it's like to be a woman in a camp full of men? I need privacy."

"We combed the entire perimeter. How much privacy does one need?"

"I found myself a bit lost, but returned when I heard all the hollering. Sheesh."

The man glares at me as if he's pondering the best method to wring my throat but then exits the hut. Him and Father exchange cross words out there, laced with epithets I shall not repeat. Eventually Father enters alone, his face a mix of anger and shame.

He shakes his head. "Jane, what the deuce is going on with you?"

"Dad, shh." I lower my voice. "I wasn't lost. I was led out of the camp. I met the wild man."

"You what? Jane—"

"SSH! Yes. The wild man. He's actually a Frenchman. He says this is his land and we're trespassing."

"You stole out into the wretched night of this infernal jungle to meet a _man_? How did he contact you?"

"He…" Well, this must sound absolutely ridiculous to a man of science. "He sent me his monkey. And that lion was with him. I believe they are his companions."

"Oh dear, oh dear. Come here, Jane."

He puts his hand on my forehead, and then checks my throat. I push his hands away.

"You—you don't believe me? You think I have jungle fever?"

"The thought's crossed my mind, but Jane, you've been acting most irrational. Approaching wild animals. Jumping into crocodile-infested waters. Running off in the middle of the night only to make up some cockamamie story about a wild Frenchman. What other choice do I have but to think you ill?"

I stand, hands on hips. "You could believe me! We're all in danger. He says he'll fight us if we don't leave at once. We must tell the others." I withhold the wild man's desire for my company from Father. In his agitated state, he would certainly consider me daft. My own incredulity stifles my tongue, yet I ache to speak of the wild man's audacity.

Father holds out his hand to me. "Oh no, it's worse than I feared. Here, my Janie, come to bed. You'll be better in the morning. You just need your rest. The excitement had frayed your nerves. Perhaps I can get the medic to grant us some tincture."

"I'm perfectly fine." I swat his solicitous hand away. "Why don't you believe me?" I search his eyes, desperate for him to believe what I hardly cognize myself.

His demeanor alters. "I'm sorry but you leave me no choice. You'll be confined to quarters until we can determine the basis of your irregularity. You may only leave for hygienic purposes."

I'm about to stomp a hole straight to China. "What? You're _grounding_ me? What about our studies? We have work to do. We've been planning this expedition for years. Do you know I climbed a tree and scouted dozens of new species? There's a mountain in the distance that's begging to be explored. Please, _please_ don't do this to me. You have to believe me."

Father does the stomping, almost knocking the spectacles from his face. "Jane stop! Enough. You have been taken ill with the Hysteria again and it must be managed. Now come, take your rest. We'll continue our studies when you are better, but nothing is more important to me that your health, especially your mental balance. You know how you can get. Don't you worry, we'll get you back to your normal self soon."

"Aagh!"

I tromp back to our tent, arms crossed against my chest, avoiding the stares of the marines and other onlookers. Inside the tent, I jump into my bed and hide my face in my pillow.

Father approaches me. "Jane—"

I speak through down feathers. "Go away! Leave me ALONE!"

I fight dastardly tears. How can a man with such a brilliant mind be so insipid? Hysteria? _Really?_ Father finally leaves the tent. A few minutes later Esmeralda enters, sits on my bed, and strokes my hair.

"Master Archimedes said you done lost your marbles. I don't remember packin' none. You?"

"I saw him, Esmeralda, the wild man." I relayed the entire encounter, sparing no detail, even his bizarre request for my company.

"So you gots yo'self a jungle suitor, hey now?"

"Well, two, I suppose. Master Robert has made his intentions clear as well."

"Whatchu gonna do?" Esmeralda eyes me.

"Well, Robert is despicable, and the wild man is a boor. No, I shall become a spinster as I've planned. I'm not one for the intimate company of man. Not with my _hysteria_." I spit the word.

Our maid chuckles. "Ain't nothing wrong with that. You know I ain't no fan of men, they're no better than them rootin' animals out there mostly. I think me I'd prefer them beasties. You sleep tight, okay hun? We'll try to cook you some sense in the morning."

#

Today is useless. Yes, I promise father that I will not go exploring, but there's all of Africa in front of me and I'm stuck in camp. Father takes Esmeralda with him, so I have nobody.

Nobody but insufferable Robert.

I walk to where the men are constructing the tall wooden palisade to separate us from the wild, still in my bare feet. Lackeys are hacking at slender tree trunks and tying them with coils of rope.

"Hey, looky," says one, a sweaty man dressed only in pants, tapping his buddy. "Hey little lassie, come run away with me. I'll show you the real jungle."

"Yeah," says his buddy, another similarly decrepit buffoon. "We'll show you the ways of the animals."

Their hips sway. Once again I feel myself on the verge of regurgitation and consider the revolver at my side. A large marine sergeant barks at them to resume their efforts. I turn and wander over to the command center, a tent with a British flag upon it.

"Good day," says a younger man, a Lieutenant, who sits at a small folding table marking papers. "You must be Miss Porter." He extends his hand. "I am Lt. Smith."

"Good to meet you, sir," I say. I've only spotted the man from a distance before. He's a fresh chap, perhaps the most junior officer, with a clean look about him. I determine to entertain myself by molesting the man and disrupting his work.

"How are you this fine morning?"

I wrinkle my nose. "Good, for a _prisoner._" Wheels turn in my head. I hold my hands behind my back and pivot slightly with my hips back and forth. He eyes me. "Say, have you been in the jungle yet?"

He shakes his head. "No, my duties have prevented any excursions."

"But it's your _duty_ to protect our camp, correct? And how can you do that with abject ignorance of our surroundings?" I wave to the verdant trees that crowd our camp.

Lt. Smith regards me, tilting his head. "I understand you have a penchant for wandering. Are you trying to lure me away?"

"Me? No, I've had quite enough. Besides, I have been ordered to remain in camp. Yet—I have critical studies to complete. Our time here is limited. Now I must tell you, I'm quite ashamed of my behavior. It was wrong to wander off."

I step closer and look around the camp. I speak conspiratorially. "You know, sir, if I but had an escort…"

He raises his eyebrow and puts down the quill he's been using. "Well, well, Miss Porter. You don't give up, do you?"

I shake my head. He seems to be considering it. I try my best little-girl wiles. "Please? I only require a short walk, just enough to grab a handful of specimens and we'll come right back, just in time for supper or mess or whatever you brave soldiers call it. All I'm asking for is a couple of bugs. Little tiny bugs for my collection." I hold up my thumb and forefinger.

"And the alternative is for you to continually disrupt our proceedings upon this tiny clutch of earth we possess?"

I shrug.

He sniffs. "I'll check with the commander."

"Oh thank you, thank you."

He walks to the command tent, and returns a few minutes later with a map. He lays it on the makeshift table. "The Captain's suggested we scout this area, about three miles to the northeast. But you are to remain within 10 yards of me at all times. If you attempt to wander off, you will spend the remainder of your time here in chains. Are we clear?"

I study the map. It's not so much a map as a guess, as only the nearby surroundings are detailed. Our target is blank, an unknown, a mysterious land that could contain anything, and hardly an hour's walk from here.

I pack a sack of provisions and specimen jars, a notebook and quills, and ensure my revolver is loaded with spare bullets at my side.

Lt. Smith approaches me at what will become the main entrance to our encampment. He frowns. "Where are your shoes? This is not a walk upon sandy shores."

I look down at my bare feet. "Lost to snakes, I'm afraid. Could not shake them out, either." I eye his shiny black knee-boots, his skipjacks, Royal Marine uniform and pith helmet. He's certainly not a bad sort to look at. This day might not be completely dreadful.

Just as we prepare to depart, up jumps Robert, dressed in outlandish khakis. "Where are we off to?"

I groan and look to the Lieutenant. "Captain's orders," he says. I glare at Robert's smug demeanor.

We follow a game trail up the river while Robert pesters me about my navigation. I mark the map as we go. I spy an exquisite toad only to have Robert crush it with his heel.

"Ugly blighter," says the boy. I want to crush him with _my_ heel.

Lt. Smith notices my mapping efforts. "You have been trained in cartography?" he asks.

I nod, focusing on elevation and heading. Clouds pile in the sky, our first hint of weather since we arrived. Lt. Smith doesn't seem to notice. "We head north from here," I say, checking the compass. "Let's find a new trail if we can, this one is leading us too far east."

After a few hundred yards, we encounter a rough game trail that leads us away from the river. I stop again, snatching a beetle here, an ant there, sniffing a flower that towers over me, examining a pile of spoor. I don't collect that. No sign of my salamander either.

Robert interrupts my every observation with ones of his own. "Boy that worm is icky. You're going to touch that? Why aren't you back in camp, cooking? Do you want to spend the rest of your life playing with bugs?"

"I certainly do," I reply. I toss a particularly long centipede at him. He screams and swats at it.

The air's grown oppressive, and every inch of me drips with sweat. My canteen's growing empty and we're barely two miles from camp. With all the stopping and reconnoitering, the hour has turned into two. Lt. Smith's up ahead, slashing through the undergrowth where it's blocked the trail while Robert dallies behind, swearing profanely at every crawling thing.

Thunder rumbles in the distance, and a breeze sways the treetops. We don't feel the wind on the ground, but pieces of dead leaves float down and sprinkle us with detritus.

"We should not be caught outside in the rain," says Lt. Smith.

"Yes, enough of this trackless wandering," says Robert. "Jane, what say you return, and I shall show you a collection of true interest: wine."

"Listen to you two, braying like donkeys. Have any of us washed properly in days? A good solid rain will be most invigorating."

The Lt. turns to me after eyeing the now flickering sky. "You have not spent much time in the tropics, have you?"

"Of course I have. I have sailed the Mighty Amazon. Do not try to frighten me."

"Ah."

A worried look crosses his features. I must admit to some trepidation, but I hold my head high as the sky darkens.

"Enough of this. I'm leaving," says Robert.

"Fine," I say. I cannot very well construct maps in an adverse environment. "This way."

We take perhaps a half-score steps when the rain commences. It's as if we had just strolled under a waterfall. The air is full of water so thick I cannot see the men except as lighter blurs. The air booms with thunder and flickers with lightning. I find myself creeping closer to the officer as we huddle under a sprout of giant leaves, but water penetrates every inch of my clothes. I am actually glad that I do not have boots, for they would be useless, but the chafing on my soles is beginning to bark. Perhaps I should reconsider my boot's abandonment.

The land around us quickly grows flooded, water rushing in every direction, swallowing my feet.

"We're going to drown," cried Robert, and he bounds off into the jungle, disappearing in an instant. We call for him, but we might as well argue the rain to halt.

At a particularly close strike, Lt. Smith grabs my hand, panic in his voice. "Come, we must find higher ground."

He leads me away into the trackless forest. My effort to resist proves futile. I have no bearings, no landmarks, just a storm-maddened man leading me hither and thither.

Just as quickly it began, the rain ceases, although water still pours from all the foliage high above. Lt. Smith is panting, his eyes wide.

We don't speak the obvious.

I sigh. Does no one in this godforsaken camp understand the basic rules of exploration? Mark your trail. Keep landmarks in sight. Use your compass. And _don't panic._

Lt. Smith is looking around the jungle all wide-eyed. The man is a gibbering monkey.

"You okay, sir?"

"The camp. Which way?"

A realization strikes me. "This is your first mission, isn't it? You haven't had _any _jungle training. What are the Royal Marines doing on a private expedition, anyways?"

He avoids my stare. "This is none of your concern, except to say that the British Empire has certain interests." He pulls his rifle from his back and affixes his bayonet.

"Listen, sir. We'll be fine. We'll just head back to the river, due south, and follow it right back to camp. Come on, let's find poor Robert. If we have lost our wits, imagine what an English lord-in-waiting must feel. Forward, march."

We take perhaps two-score paces, hollering for Robert, when we both stop, hearing voices. Lt. Smith raises his rifle. From the corner of my eye, I spot movement. Shadows seem to pass through the jungle.

"Stay low," says Lt. Smith through his teeth. "I shall protect you."

It seems like alien men have found our tracks, as their voices grow excited. I grab my Colt and pull back the hammer.

Lt. Smith leans to me. "You should be prepared to use it on yourself before the savages capture you."

Splendid. I glance at the junior officer who's sighting along his Enfield rifle from the kneeling position. "Cursed vegetation. We should burn down the lot of it."

The dark-skinned savages come at us at once, from all angles. Arrows snap through the air, followed by spears. In seconds, the poor Lieutenant's a pincushion, gutted and filleted. He tumbles back onto me, knocking the gun from my hand. We don't fire a single shot, nothing to call attention from any nearby potential rescuers.

Wicked men with paint-streaked faces, chains of bone, numerous piercings and scars push through the brush, their sharpened teeth gleaming white. Lt. Smith's gasping his final breaths, his eyes wide. A wave of terrible remorse washes over me. I disobeyed father once again, and have paid an awful price. A man is most likely dead, and I shall probably be tortured in a most horrible manner. My revolver is a good ten paces away.

Spears aim at my face. The men chortle in their native tongue. I wonder if I should scream. I curse my inquisitiveness for the last time. I close my eyes, praying that my end is quick and relatively unagonizing.

Just when I expect their spears to explore my inner abdomen, I hear it. The 'howl'. A cry so unearthly that I fear it more than the men surrounding me. Even Lt. Smith in his death throes reacts, clutching my hand as if the author of that vocalization brings a fate worse than our imminent deaths. The natives freeze, looking all about, fear writ across their features.

Even the birds halt their incessant calling. It's as if the entire jungle has stopped, a portent of certain doom.

One native literally disappears as if a hand has come down from Heaven and lifted him up. The spears tremble in the hands of the savages.

All is quiet. The men glance at each other, steeling themselves. I myself am shaking in my boots—I mean—my bare feet.

A scream sounds, but not the chilling one, more a cry of sheer fright. The man who disappeared into the trees now tumbles down from the sky yelling, and lands in a _whump_ in the middle of the group of savages.

Half of the natives turn and careen through the vegetation, but a large man, apparently their leader, seems to be coaxing them back, yelling to make a stand, putting their backs to me, their prize. One of them points and screams, throwing his spear up into the trees. The others follow suit, followed by a volley of arrows.

Have you ever tried to throw a cat into a bath? Cornered a rat and poked him with a burning stick? I have not, I assure you, but what happens next reminds me of those things, for when the wild man drops into the center of the men, he attacks with ten times the viciousness of those animals I just mentioned.

He wields nothing but a long knife, but he creates such elegant motion that even the grandest _premier danseur noble_ would rave with envy. In seconds, the lesser men drop, leaving my fierce French defender to face the giant bloodthirsty native.

From the wild man's chest emanates a blood-chilling growl, reminiscent of a lion trying to scare a gazelle to death. The tribesman waves his spear. The wild man throws down his knife. The huge man lunges, but the jungle man simple grabs the spear, snaps it like a twig, and throw it away.

That's when I see it. The wild man's face grows even more enraged, his brows knit, his teeth bared in a primal snarl. I now realize "wild" is a severe understatement of his persona. He is Savage. Bestial. Primitive.

The grapple for a moment, but in an instant it is obvious who owns the greater strength. Despite the monstrous savage's size, the wild man is pound-for-pound ten times stronger, every muscle deeply defined, honed for just this activity. With one hand the wild man pushes the tribesman's chin higher and higher until I hear a sickening "snap."

The huge man collapses. My wild man retrieves his knife and comes to me, kneeling next to Lt. Smith who's as powerless as a newborn rabbit.

"I sorry," speaks my defender. "No can help. Close eyes. Pray."

For a moment, I see a touch of compassion in M. Clayton's eyes. He grips Lt. Smith's hand in a firm grasp. "Pray," he repeats.

Lt. Smith's eyes shudder and close. In a swift move, the wild man slashes Lt. Smith's throat with his knife. Blood spurts up. The man gargles horribly for a second, and then lays as still as the wild man's other victims.

I jump up. "What? What do you do that for? He was alive!" I must run. I have completely misinterpreted this man. He's not just a savage, he's a monster.

John Clayton shakes his head and speaks in French. "_No, Jane, he wasn't. He might have lived hours, but then his fate would be decided by the animals. Better this way than to be eaten to death._"

I'm too frazzled to speak anything but good ole American. "You can't know that. We could've taken him back to camp. We have a doctor."

John rises and extends his hand. "Come."

I turn from him. I spot my Colt, scramble to grab it, and aim it at him. "No."

Even with my hand shaking and the gun cocked, he looks unperturbed. "_Do you wish to die here? Those men who escaped will return with more of their numbers. If not the animals, they would have tortured him to death._"

"No. I must return to camp, find Robert. Immediately. "

"Your other man safe, near camp. I something show to you." He shimmies his extended hand. "Please."

I carefully replace the hammer and stow my gun. Every instinct begs me to run from this brute, hands dripping with blood, but when I look in his eyes, I see a kindness, a need. A loneliness. "Where do you propose we go?"

"Home."

#

I'm stunned, shocked, bewildered. A man is dead. It's clearly my fault. I should never have come to Africa, never thought myself deserving of such an expedition. And now my curiosity has proven to be my undoing. Curse my thirst for knowledge! The price is far too steep.

I cannot help but stare at Lt. Smith's body, blood still oozing out of his sliced neck and down his uniform.

"How can you be so cruel?" I say.

"It is Law of Jungle. Kill or be killed. No mercy for weak."

"He was not weak. This should not have happened."

The wild man puts a startling hand on my shoulder and captures my gaze. I look up into his steel-grey eyes framed with flowing locks of dark hair. "Yes. He was good man. He try to defend you. Now we go."

He places an arm around my waist, and suddenly, we're rising, I don't know how. He carries me as lightly as a breadbasket. We stand on a high branch fifty feet above the ground.

"Are you feared?" he asks.

I shake my head, my lungs convulsing. _Scared?_ No. _Terrified?_ Not even a little. Do I feel like screaming in mortal fear? _Definitively._

However, I feel no threat of falling. My fear is of another sort, one I do not believe I have ever contemplated. The Frenchman leads me along the branch, and where it dips down to the forest floor, he collects me and swings me to the next branch, my feet dangling in mid-air until another branch comes to meet them. I don't even know how he does it, some combination of clinging to vines, snatching branches, and pure jumping, but somehow landing as light as a feather. It is as if he's a jungle spirit, only half-existing upon our mortal plain.

I'm in a dream, watching the jungle pass by. I don't question it, I don't fight the exhilaration bursting from my heart as we travel faster, and through some osmotic process of scientific observation I begin to learn the "vines" as it were. I note where to step, how to swing, where to grab. My pith helmet falls away, as does my shirt at it proves an impediment, only my undergarments protecting my modesty. It's not as if my companion is dressed to the nines.

I have only the vaguest sense of direction, but the wild man points here and there to various tell-tale species of plant, and soon I realize certain flora prefer certain orientations, and by remembering which plant occupies which tree, I start creating a mental map of the path. Turn to the right when you encounter a thorny creeper. Go down for red blossoms. Climb for blue beetles.

I deduce we travel somewhat northeasterly. The man shows me where to find potable water in the higher elevations of the forest, where to grab a quick bite of fruit, even which insects are edible.

I did not participate in the latter. I may be bare-footed, and nearly bare-chested, but I am not a savage. I matriculated at Baltimore's finest academies, including a session at finishing school if you dare believe. I prefer my meals still and cooked. Of course, once M. Clayton discovers my discomfort at his offerings, he makes a huge show of eating the wriggly things. I quickly learn there is a veritable prankster living under his steel exterior. His monkey friend shows up now and again, and the wild man takes great pride in putting the poor soul through all sorts of tricks before handing the simian his fruit.

As the afternoon wears on, the foliage down below grows thicker until it's completely impenetrable by man, but up here, only vines and the occasional spider web impede our progress.

As evening approaches, he leads me to an unusual tree, an ancient cypress living in the jungle, hundreds of years old and towering over the rest of the foliage. Upon the side of the cypress I discover boards nailed into a crude ladder, and high in the foliage I spot some rough construction.

We ascend the solitary tree and I stand in the most intriguing room on the continent, I dare say.

"This is home," he says, eying me with expectation.

I walk about, fascinated by the antiquities, studying old moldy books and rusty trinkets. "Where is this all from?" I spot a crib. "Is this where you were born?"

"No. My human mother birthed me at sea. Ship wrecked nearby. Father, mother, and I only survivors. He build this. See?"

He passes me an old journal. I look at an entry, written in English.

I read it aloud. "Sept 28, 1885. Day 55 after wreck. Still searching for fresh stream. John is well but mother weakening. Need to find a source of protein. Native tribe cutting off most routes to the south, and I'm almost out of bullets to drive them off. John babbling like a champ."

I still don't know why I don't feel fear around this man. We're sitting in a rickety treehouse hundreds of feet in the air. I've witnessed this man kill many savages armed with little more than a knife. He's also declared his intention for us to mate. Every caution bell in my head should be screaming.

And yet, for some reason, I feel that this is the safest place in the world, as if no harm can come to me when John is around. Perhaps I'm a naïve schoolgirl. The man is powerful, able to break necks with his bare hands and end another man's suffering without hesitation. His thick muscles threaten to burst from his skin. Since the moment I first climbed aboard the ship in Maryland, I had felt a danger surrounding me, that the brutish crew would find a way to corner me. Now that I truly was cornered, it was wonderful.

"You no fear me?" he says, as if reading my thoughts.

I almost drop the journal, startled by his words. "Should I?"

"_Oui_," he says. I pass it off as boyish bragging. He stands behind me and peers over my shoulder at the journal. I feel the heat radiating from his solid body. "They died five days later," he says, his breath tingling my bare neck.

I compute the circumstances. "You—you were only…about three months old?"

"Yes, I believe so."

"So you were still nursing."

"_Oui_."

Some kind of hackle rose on my neck. I turn to him, his face inches from mine in the gloom of evening, shadows sweeping his features. "So—how did you survive?"

"Kala, she raised me. She must have heard me crying. Numa, the jaguar, killed my parents. Kala found me and brought me to live with her tribe."

"Oh, so you were raised by a tribe like the one that killed Lt. Smith." I turn from him. He must be one of those horrid savages. Now I finally feel an urge to creep out of the cabin.

With his rough, calloused hand, he gently turns me back to face him and glares at me as if I have just declared that Jesus wore a tu-tu.

"That kind of tribe deserves nothing but death. They kill for killing. They hurt and torture animals. They perform cruel mutilations upon their women, turning them to madness. No. I was raised in tribe of apes."

His face is serious. I laugh despite myself. "Apes?" Definitely a prankster. He eyes me with his steel eyes. My laughter dies on my lips.

"I like your laugh, but it is truth."

I shake my head. "Come now, M. Clayton. Out with it."

He sighs and speaks French while he blessedly moves his steamy bulk away from me. "_Apes and humans are not so different. Humans, yes, we possess incredible powers of thought and mimicry. Our spoken language far outpaces any communication in the animal world. But there is a hidden language in all creatures, created from movement, vocalizations, pitch, volume, all contributing to language not of words but of meanings_."

I try to digest it. "You can communicate with animals?"

He sparks up a small oil lamp, filling the cabin with a dim light. "_Of course, and far easier than with humans, because animals don't lie. They don't deceive. They don't say one thing and do another_."

I sense pain welling from his voice. Darkness encloses the forest as the sun dips below the horizon. A chorus of chirps and cries fill the jungle night from below. I'm only vaguely aware of the impossibility of returning to camp at this hour.

"Yes," I say, thinking about my own lies to my father. "So what is it like, living with apes?"

John shrugs. "_They are like us, but not like us. For one, they are peaceful creatures. Apes do not create armies. Conflicts are resolved in minutes, and the loser walks away gracefully. Deaths are handled with grace as well. We accept our fate. Yet with humans, ever it is the will to advance, to gain, to step on one's fellows to grab the best fruit._"

I look down. My whole life has been about advancement, about achievement, of passing my fellow students, of becoming respected in my field. I looked at my companion. I didn't want to admit to such things before him, but I wanted him to like me, to respect me. "We humans are certainly an ugly lot."

"_Oui_." John reclines on a long bench, resting his head on his hand and eyeing me. "_Much worse than I could imagine had I not witnessed much of it myself._"

I feel shame for my fellow man, for myself. "So how did you come to know all this? To speak French and English? To learn the ways of man?"

"_Well, I was not completely isolated from mankind. Early on, I discovered a tribe not too far from here. A few kind women took me in at times, but after a few days I would leave, missing my mother. I had always known I was different from the apes, but I then learned I was different from the tribesmen. I rediscovered this house. A tribeswoman helped me determine that I was a castaway, that I had come from a distant land from across the endless water._"

I sit in rapt attention. He continues.

"_One day while I'm up here I hear a curious noise from far away, like thunder, only from the ground, and without clouds. It comes from the direction of my fellows. By the time I arrive, all I find is death. My ape tribe lies in a bloody pile. My human tribe have been maimed and tortured, the women abused._"

"You mother? Was she okay?"

His voice hasn't betrayed any emotion, but his face turns away. I sit stunned for a second. I barely squeak out the words. "Poachers killed your ape mother?"

He nods. A vast ocean of emotion pours upon me.

"I—I lost my mother, too."

He looks to me.

"It was in childbirth, with my brother. Both died." Although the truth was far uglier, this was the story Father and I have used over the years.

The small cabin is silent save for the orchestra of frogs and night creatures. The single flame flickers, attracting fat moths. I sniffle, fighting back the horrid memories of a childhood broken, of imagining what poor John must have endured. I put the journal down and I step to where John sits, his elbows on his knees and his head in his hands.

I don't know whose hand found whose, but they met. I press my head against his solid shoulder, and then wrap my arms around his body. Ape or human, a mother was a mother. Tears creep down my nose.

He speaks to me, his voice husky. "Where did you come from? How did you find me?"

"What do you mean?"

"How did such a woman come to my shores? A beautiful, perfect woman?"

I gasp. I feel his breath on my face. I think—I think we're going to kiss. I know we are. I think we're going to do a whole lot more, here, in this tiny room hovering above the forest.

Shots ring out, distant and full of echoes, but the distinct sound of military musketry.

My heart clenches. It's in the general direction of camp, if I'm not mistaken. "They must have found Lt. Smith. We must go."

"Jane—" He holds my arm as I rise.

"That is _my_ tribe out there, my father. Please, John, we must help them. They are probably out trying to rescue me."

I hear an animal's growl in the room. I jump to John, but then I realize the sound comes from his chest.

"I hate guns," he utters in a fearful tone. "I told your people to leave, and now they have begun shooting in my forest."

My instinct is to flee, but instead, I place a calming hand on his chest, over his wildly beating heart. "We can stop them. Can you find our way back in the dark?"

He looks down to me, studying my face, eying my hand as it rests upon his skin. I see some of the savagery leave his visage. "Come."

#

Travelling by night is terrifying. I cling to John like a baby. I can't see a thing, but somehow he can still navigate the jungle, whether by scent, sound, or touch, or some mystical ability I do not know. I'm sure each step will lead to tumble to the forest floor.

Once again, I begin to trust my footsteps, feeling my way through the boughs, never slipping. Some inner sense takes hold and soon I feel as safe as crossing a street in dear Baltimore. I somehow tell the thinking part of my mind to be quiet and don't remind me of all the fatal perils that surround me. This is no small feat, I assure you. I tell my ears not to listen to the growls and howls of the night, and to ignore what sounds like something trailing us at times. I simply tell myself to trust the hand in mine.

I finally spot the glow of campfires off in the distance. I tug John's hand and we stop. It is somewhere close to midnight.

"What is it?" he asks.

My mouth is dry. My nerves flare. "I—I don't know if I should go back. If I do, they may keep me in chains until our boat returns. But I must discern whether Father is safe."

My mind is a swirl of emotion, but the thought of taking another step toward that camp chills me. Suddenly the notion of rote cataloging of plants and animals day after day seems insufferable.

In one corner of the camp lies crates, and in those crates are cages, ready to be assembled, ready to snatch whatever specimens we can find and ship them to America and England.

The entire camp is a cage, I realize with a start. They've built high, wooden walls to keep the jungle out, but to my eyes, it's what's keeping them inside. My entire life has been played by rules, doing everything I've been told. For the first time, I'm experiencing things on my own, not having to ask permission.

A light wavers below us.

"Jane!"

_Dad_. I'm about to climb down to him when I notice four Marines trailing him. They don't see us high above.

I squeeze John's hand and lean to him. "I don't want to go back."

He squats down so I don't have to crane my neck to see him. "Jane. I no tell you what to do. I fight for you, do everything to have you by my side forever. But choice must be yours. Say word and I protect you, kill all you say."

He doesn't look murderous, but I know him fully capable of his words. "No, that won't be necessary. But I need to go back, if only for a day. When I'm with you, it's almost like we were born to be together. But I must do this the right way, with my father's blessing." I can't believe the words pouring from my own mouth. I'm an academic, not some swoon!

"Would you like me to come with? I could speak to him."

I shake my head and put my hand on his thick shoulder. "Yes, you should meet. But not yet. Can you read? I can send you messages through your monkey friend."

He nods.

I notice the lights moving off, the voices growing soft.

"I will be with you again, soon. Now help me out of this tree. I'm afraid the rest of the way will be on the ground for me."

We descend to the forest floor. It's almost strange to feel solid ground under my feet after hours in wobbly boughs and branches. I know I need to catch up to Dad before they're too far off, but I can't tear myself away from John's side. He stands close to me. I can't help it, but I pull his face close and kiss his cheek. "Thank for saving my life," I say in his ear.

His massive arms wrap around me, his body grows tense. Hot blood runs through my veins, jungle fever if there ever was one. I inhale his scent, strong and wild and urgent.

I pull myself away but he catches me and he plants his lips on mine, my first kiss, deep in a dark forest. I can taste our snacks of banana and mango. I shove his chest. Any longer and I would not be able to break the embrace, let alone be able to breathe. John's panting, I'm sweating and tingling and my knees are knocking. My mind reels like a ship tossed upon an angry sea.

"_Au revoir_," he says.

Just like that he disappears, climbing a tree or swinging a vine, disappearing into the dark. A huge fuzzy body slides next to mine, John's lion, following him into the night.

For a minute all I can do is breathe, try to collect myself, cool the fire that the wild man has ignited inside me, burning fuel I scarce knew I possessed.

My fear of being lost thaws my tongue. "Dad! Dad! Hey! Over here!"

Shouts and cries fill the night, coupled with the sound of crashing through vegetation. The flickering glow of torches approaches. I maintain my chorus for them to follow. When we meet, Dad all but hugs me to death.

"We were attacked," he says. "Just after I arrived back in camp. We chased the savages and discovered Lt. Smith's body, but no sign of you, only your weapons and a few dead savages. How did you escape them?"

"It's wasn't me, it was the wild man, M. John Clayton. He fought them off but it was too late for Lt. Smith. He's kept me secure up in the trees until we felt it safe to return. Oh, Dad, I've found out so much about him. He is so fascinating." And delicious. And frightening, the way I lost all sound judgment near him. I swear to never let me good sense be swayed by that man again.

Dad hugs me again. "Well, I guess I owe that son of a gun. Are you hurt in any way? Where's your shirt?"

"With my boots. It's just much easier to travel this way."

"Come. Let's get you back to camp."

"You're not mad at me?"

"Furious." He looks at me, scrutinizing my face. "I believe we must have 'the talk.'"

I look up at him. "What talk?"


	5. Chapter 4

Chapter Four

The next morning, I sit in front of Captain Mann. His XO 1st Lt. Fuzz, Father, and Lord Dingy stand behind him, with Robert lurking in the rear. Father's threatened talk never occurred; we both slumped into slumber at our first opportunity. To a man, they glare at me.

"I want to know exactly what happened," says Capt. Mann, his pitted face red from sun. The olive-hued command hut barely wards off the morning heat, oppressively shirt-wetting.

"Just like I said, sir." I try to speak with proper humility. "I believe it was an ambush. Spears and arrows. They came from all sides, coordinated. The brave Lt. Smith threw himself before me and saved me. The man is a hero, sir."

"_I_ will decide who is a hero. I understand this, those filthy savages. But what _happened_? How did we find a pile of bodies, with not a single gunshot among them?"

I swallow and look at my toes that wriggle against the dirt. "I told you, it was my friend John Clayton. He drove them off."

Captain Mann hovers close, adding the heat of his breath to the room. "You are telling me one man did all that? With his bare hands?"

I gesture. "He used a knife and a length of rope. He snatched the men's spears on occasion. I estimate he's fought their kind before."

"You don't say. So—he's an expert in this country, speaks French and English." The captain pivots to address the others. "By Jove, this is precisely the sort of chap we need working for us. Here we are, beating the bush and dying, when our answer lies before us."

He approaches me and places his boot upon my chair. "And you spent the balance of the day with the lad? Getting to know him? Do you know how to contact him? Where he lives?"

I'm about to disclose my knowledge of the cabin high in the trees when my mouth clamps shut. "So far, he contacts me."

Captain Mann turns to the assembled. "We must discern what this man desires, what we might use as a bargaining chip."

They talk amongst themselves, detailing gold, coffee, or weapons they can barter.

"Excuse me," I say. "He doesn't want barter. If fact, he's made it quite clear to me what he wants. He wants us to leave his land." _And for me to stay behind._

"Oh? And if we stay?"

"We suffer the same fate as our attackers."

"Against modern firearms? Are you daft?"

My hands form fists. "If he says he can destroy us, he will. This is his land, and he knows exactly how to do it."

"Come now," says Lord Dingy, his mustache drooping. "Surely a man seeking protection for his land could use our services. Is he married? Does he have some form of wife?"

I shake my head. "Of course not." But I realize that I don't _know_. Although young, he could certainly have fathered children. The thought chills me.

"Perhaps if there was someone he loved, some family member, or some _lover_…"

Maybe I blush. Maybe I press my lips or something. Maybe Robert whispers something into his father's ear and then smiles at me accusingly.

Lord Dingy steps to me and places his hand on my shoulder. "Or perhaps someone he has interest in, like our fair Jane Porter here."

Curses. Robert must have come back, witnessed my willing departure with the jungle man.

"Now hold on a second," says Father. "My daughter is a highly educated graduate student, not some pawn for your schemes. I will not expose her to any more danger. She came within a hair's breadth of being captured or worse yesterday, after we had agreed to keep her in camp. Now I'm expected to trust her to the hands of your incompetent soldiers? No. Come, Jane."

"No one's going anywhere, Professor." Captain Mann stands between Father and I. "I assure you, my soldiers are quiet adept, and any further insinuations to the contrary will answer to me. I don't quite comprehend what transpired yesterday, but it was no lack of skill. We are on direct orders from Her Majesty Queen Victoria to determine the exploitability of this region, and to use any and all means at our disposal. Scientific pursuits come second. Are we clear?"

"You leave my daughter out of this or so help me—"

"So help you what?"

The men stood eye to eye. I so wish Father would just go and pop that Captain right in the mouth, yet what the Captain and Lord Dingy are asking—I need little excuse to seek my jungle friend.

Father turns away. "The reports of misconduct will be most damning," he says, fists futilely staying at his side. It's an empty threat. Everyone in the room knows it as such.

I rise. "I'll do it."

"Jane, no."

"Please, Father, I am capable of making my own decisions." I turn to the captain. "If you want to parlay with John, I will contact him and further your cause, but _only_ if you allow us unfettered access to our scientific studies, and if you promise not to harm him if your deal with him goes awry. I suspect he is not the kind of man to put himself in league with organized society, and I doubt he'll receive your offers."

Captain Mann regards me. "Excellent. We shall arrange a meeting…"

I barely listen to the rest, a bunch of logistical hallyhoo.

We eventually return to our tent, Father grumbling and studying notes.

"Lil girl, time for some serious scrubbing," says Esmeralda, covering her nose. She already has prepared a tub of lukewarm water inside a canvassed partition. I strip down and enter the sudsy water. The jungle grime sluices off me.

Father enters while I wear naught but a towel and proceeds to examine my limbs. It is our unfortunate jungle etiquette to conduct routine searches for tics or other parasites, and Father insists on fine-combing my hair.

"Nothing more than scratches? Not even insect bites?"

"John showed me certain muds and various plant stems I could rub on my body." My palms and soles are a bit raw from all the tree-walking I did, but the warm water did wonders for my sore muscles.

After inspection, I dress in private and then return to Father while Essie dismantles the tub and removes the partition. From the look on his face, I know he is finally ready for 'The Talk'. I wish to drown myself in the tub again, but Esmeralda has faithfully emptied it out the back of our tent. He seats us facing each other and holds my hands. It is difficult to maintain eye contact; not because I feel shame, but because discussing such things with a father is most difficult. It is hard to imagine such an ancient fellow feeling anything akin to the burning passion that races through my veins.

"Jane. This man. I saw a look on your face. I've only seen it once before, right after your mother and I began dating. She had the same look."

I inwardly cringe at the mention of my mother. Part of me feels jealousy, that he knew her when I never had that opportunity. "It's not like that, Dad," I lie. "He's just strong and quick and gentle. An interesting study in contrasts."

"Ah. But Jane, listen to me carefully. This man is an uncivilized savage. He may not understand the mores of our culture, even grasp the concept of marriage and virginity and the like."

"So?"

"So he may attempt to corrupt you, do things that I or your mother would not be proud of."

_Mother_. I feel it unfair to invoke her name in any discussion. "Such as?" I feign ignorance as to the baser motives of men, if only to rattle him.

"Force you into…sexual congress."

I snort. "Dad, that's the furthest thing from my mind." Furthest from _being_ the furthest thing from my mind, I must admit. "He's not like that."

"Every man is like that, and the less civilized, the more so."

"Then I will simply have to conclude that by some means, Mr. Clayton has become quite civilized."

Father stares at me, shaking his head. "Jane—

"Please, Father, you are being silly. I boast a college degree, and we are engaged in the most important zoological expedition of this year. Do you think for a moment I would risk all of that for some dalliance with a jungle man?"

I now make eye contact, if only to convince myself of the veracity of my words, yet I can't stop thinking about John's hands upon me, his lips against mine, the heat of his body.

And I can't stop seeing him end Lt. Smith's life.

#

The day turns wet and breezy, fat drops of water coursing down from the heavens, plunking on the tent, the wind sighing through the trees. It becomes a touch cooler, but not cool by any means. Our campsite has turned to stinky mud, and everyone gathers under lean-to's smoking pipes or rolling dice. Given our fatigue from the previous night, Father calls off any expeditioning.

I decide to wander around camp, carrying an umbrella and staring wistfully at the trees beyond the palisade. The workmen continue their efforts, dark figures in the mist. Esmeralda corners me by the latrine. "Hey, girlie. What's this I hear 'bout you going off with some monkey-man? Hain't I never taught you no better? And you didn't think to informacate me?"

_Great_. Now _everyone_ thinks I'm having an affair with some uncivilized brute—which I most certainly _am_ having, unless I can somehow tame the wild imaginations in my head. But I don't want people to _know_ that.

"What are they saying?"

Esmeralda smirks at me. "You got some wild oats in _you_, yes you do. I got nothing 'gainst it. But you gotsta be careful, girl. Them wild folk just want one thing."

"Oh for the love of—Yes, my father has been lecturing me about it. For a subject that seems taboo, it has certainly caused great discussion. Is—sexual congress—all anyone can talk about?"

Esmeralda smiles and shrugs. "I don't think no congressmen are about, sexual or otherwise."

I glance around and lean to Esmeralda. Rain patters on my umbrella. "You've been with…with men, right?"

"Uh, yeah, more'n I care to recall."

"How do you…how do you…" Words seemed to catch in my throat.

"Come, let's scoot out of this pissin' rain." Esmeralda leads me under a small canvas. "Girl, you falling for Mister Jungle Man deep."

I nod. "It's _Monsieur_ Jungle man_,_ actually. I want to make sure I do things right. I want to know how to…" I wave my arms and do something that I hope she understands with my hips. I have studied animal behavior in detail, including mating rituals, but I'm clueless at to the practices of mankind.

"Ahh. And you're gnawing I'm a good preacher?"

"Do you see any other women in camp? Please, I want him to like me." And love me.

Actually—it's not that I _want_ to do such things. Not immediately. I simply cannot fathom being continually ignorant of what must be common knowledge to every man in camp. Or every wild man in the jungle.

"That's it, ain't it always? Girl, if I had some magic tricks to trap a man you think I'd be no maid? No ma'am. And why you cooking 'bout this nohow? You're a respectable girl, you got money, even learnins. And you want to scamper off like some…well I ain't saying what."

I shake my head. "I just don't want to mess things up."

Esmeralda sighs and stares at the forest. "You got it straight in your head that you're all for lovin'. You kiss the man? Yeah? Well, now. You didn't tell your pappi, right? Good. Listen, I ain't one to talk. I've been with men since I barely got off the teat. But I ain't one of no account, see? You gotta use what you got, girl. You got them looks men sing about, all innocent-like. You've turned every head in camp and then some. It ain't no surprise some jungle hero goes hollerin' after you. Why you go wastin' those looks on books is a stumper."

Esmeralda pauses, eying me. "You can't just swat it all away, girl. You got something precious. You get to choose your men, decide which one is upright. You bare your charms like that, they got all the power, see? You gots burning feelings, like everything must to happen now or it won't never. But it will. And trust me, it's way better when stuff happens when _you_ choose, not when a man trumpets."

"But what if I choose _now_? What if he's perfect and gentle and kind and strong? Why must I wait?"

Esmeralda smiles and kicks some mud onto my feet. "You ever gonna wear shoes again? Look what's goosing through you. Kick off the boots and suddenly everything you been learned's gone. Listen, no mister's perfect. I should know, been with a trainload. Whatever you likes about him now, wait a spell and half his goodies will gut you. You say he's strong? What if starts pushing you around, slappin' you 'cause the eggs run off the plate? Perfect, huh? The gentleman lives in trees. You on your way to being a professor. Books, writing, learnin' young ones. What's he on his way to? Dead, sure enough. Taking on a hunnert savages with his bare hands. Man's a damn fool if you ask me."

"No he's not!" I kick the mud back at Esmeralda. "I love him!"

She steps back and clutches her chest in mock surprise. "What? Oh Lordy, Lordy, Lordy. What you gone done now? _Love?_ You known him what? Three days? If you be my kin I'd take the paddle to you for such talk. Love." She spits on the ground.

I glare at Esmeralda and then at the spit. My curiously silent intellectual side shrugs. "I know it's not logical. I know it seems impossible, but deep in my heart, I know it's true. I'm going to stay with him and marry him and live here forever. All I need to know is how to make him happy."

"Big plans. Make a wild man happy, huh? Like I said, I ain't got no clue. All I know is that if you just throw yourself at him, he ain't gonna respect you. Personally, I don't know if it's nothing about happiness. Make him want you and need you, don't matter how pissed he gets, he'll always come back. Or whip you within an inch of your life."

I want to give Esmeralda a whipping. "You are deliberately trying to confuse me. All I want is some straight answers."

"You think man's akin to one of your fancy studies? You just need to learn you your X, Y, and Z and you gots it all figured? Good luck with that, child."

"Stop calling me 'child.'" I cross my arms. "I'm a full-grown woman."

"Well, I reckon so. Then you sure must gots all the answers. Oh, teach me, pro-fesser, what po' lil' Essie gotta do to gets me a man." She kneels before me.

I try to stand tall, but I slump. Rain beats down around us, quivering the puddles. "No, I don't know anything. I know more zoology than most full professors, I can identify thousands of species, but I know nothing about the opposite gender."

Esmeralda stands and puts an arm around me. "Then take it slow. Figure him like he's a new kinda banana. Glean what he likes, what he don't. But while you're at it, do the same for yourself. Listen to your thumper. You gotta learn what makes _you_ happy, too, hun. Now come on, they're gonna speak a few words by Lt. Smith over yonder."

I turn to Esmeralda and hug the solid woman. "I just want to know what to do."

"Don't we all, missy, don't we all."

#

When I'm free from my duties, I try waving, jumping, wandering as close to the woods as the marines will allow, but nothing attracts John. Meanwhile, Father has me busy organizing notes and looking at maps.

Robert enters our tent unannounced. "We're organizing a hunting party, looking for meat. They figure if the natives were hunting nearby, then there must be something out there to find. You interested? Maybe we'll see your wild man."

I eye Robert for a second, not trusting his motive. "His name is Monsieur Clayton. Father, what do you say? I might be able to locate some serviceable areas to survey. And I _promise_ I will not run off with any men."

"How many in the party?" Father asks Robert.

"About twenty, all armed."

"And no further sightings of hostiles?"

"No, sir."

Father eyes me for a long moment. "Very well. This is your last chance, Daughter. Any further aberrations and this expedition will be over. Go ahead, let me know what you find. Robert, I expect you to get her back here in one piece."

"Yes, sir."

While I shiver to spend a single moment in Robert's presence, the lure of Africa is irresistible. The first hour of the march is excruciatingly boring. We slog through muddy trails. My pants are tied above my knees but the mud still clings to everything. While the men swat bugs I find some special plants to rub, courtesy John's instruction. The rain is intermittent but the high tropical sun is cutting through even the thick clouds.

"You look like a slave girl," says Robert, dropping back to my rearguard position. I keep stopping to examine various plants and then running to catch up. I loft a small pack on my back but the weather's still too drippy to take effective notes.

"Robert, if we ever settle this land, the first thing I shall request is paved roads and proper coaches."

"Amen." Like everyone else, he is a picture of mud and grime, almost cute in a way.

I have not forgotten his threats, but they have not been repeated. Perhaps he has regained his senses regarding proper treatment of women. I must admit the close quarters of the ship caused no lack of duress. Out in the jungle, we can breathe.

I look up at the tall trees that surround us. "Say, perhaps we could scout some game from up a tree. Care to join me?"

"Say what?"

I stop near a well-vined elm and grasp a climber. "Come on, don't be a pansy."

"What did you call me?"

I pull myself up and up, my hands on the vine and my feet on the trunk, reaching the first sturdy branch in seconds.

"Hey! Wait! How did you do that?" He stands below, belligerent, like an angry monkey. I want to drop things on him.

"Grasp the bulges in the vines and then the knots in the wood. Like this." I ascend to the next branch with ease. The height doesn't frighten me—it excites me.

Robert tries and slips, barely reaching three feet off the ground. I laugh.

"Stop laughing at me!" His face turns red.

"You can do it. Have some fortitude."

"Arg." Robert wrestles against the tree and reaches perhaps four feet off the ground. His boots slip and his body slaps the tree trunk. "Dammit!"

"Oh, my. Take off your boots." I find an overripe fruit out on my branch among the throng of fat leaves and opportunistic ferns. I step out to grasp it so I can toss it at Robert.

Robert must be wise to my plan and starts swinging his vine around, tugging on my branch.

"Hey!" The branch wiggles and jumps under my feet. "Cut it out! Robert!"

My feet slip. My knee hits the branch and I tumble sideways, grasping for anything. I'm in midair, nothing between me and the ground. Now I shall admit to much trepidation over my rapidly decreasing elevation. The world spins up to meet me with a deathly embrace. Robert shrieks.

The slam almost knocks my breath away, but it's not the ground. It's a body. A flying body. _John._

The vine slips through his calloused fingers as he lowers us to the ground.

"Oh John!" I throw my arms around his neck and we kiss. "How do you do that?"

He smiles. "I will always catch you, Jane."

My heart just about tears from my chest.

"Hey!" Robert approaches, his rifle aimed square at John's head. "Back off, you animal! Get away from my girl."

"_Your_ girl?" Every muscle in John's body tenses. I wonder if a bullet can even pierce his iron muscles. Wild man or not, I fear that high-velocity iron could cause him irreparable harm.

I stand between them. "Robert, put that down. He's the man we've been sent to find. Do you wish to drive him away?"

"If he has any interest in you I do. Get your hands off of her."

John growls the terrifying roar of a lion. He's ready to pounce. I step before Robert. "Please, Robert, calm down. He's a friend."

Robert backs a step to keep his sights on John. "Take off that knife. Do it!"

John unsheathes his knife, still growling. I suspect he could throw that knife quicker than Robert could pull the trigger. I turn to him. "John, shh. Don't let the boy make you do something I won't like. Please, give me the knife."

John eyes me and then Robert. "For you, Jane." He hands me the knife, but his eyes never leave Robert, and the animal snarl never leaves his lips.

I raise the knife to Robert. "Now put that rifle down or so help me I will render it useless."

Robert sneers. "Fine." He finally lowers the rifle.

"Now hand it to me."

"What?"

"Now."

I stare at him like he's an unruly child. He huffs, raises it, and then passes it to me. "Now you have all the weapons," he whines.

"Good." I jam the knife in my belt and sling the rifle on my back. "As it should be. You boys cannot be trusted, apparently. Now Robert, catch up with the party and let them know John and I will be scouting for game. We won't be far."

"You said you wouldn't run off."

"I'm not. As long as you return along this trail we'll catch up. Now go. Scoot!"

Robert runs away. I turn to my newfound love.

John sniffs. "Good. I tire of smell. Now, madame, you give knife back."

"No." I smile coy at him. "You come get it."

I turn and run, giggling and shrieking like a child. John pursues me, but I can tell he's not exerting himself. I climb a tree, I jump to the next one, wild-man style. I slide down and fall into a mud pit. I'm coated with greenish slime from my head to my toes.

John's laughing at me from the edge of the pit. "Give me knife and I help you out."

"Give me your hand first."

He extends it and I yank him into the mud with a thick splash. The stench of rot and earth invades my nostrils.

"A-ha!" He snatches the knife from me.

"Aww." I pout. He extends his hand.

"Come, let's wash in the river."

I don't know what comes over me, but before I know it, we're both in a deep pool of water, up to our necks, and completely naked. Well, I took off my clothes _after_ I got in, and then spent a good ten minutes wringing out the mud from my clothes.

Yes, I know my higher sensibilities have fled.

Yes, I know I'm not ready. But I think I'm ready to be ready to be ready.

John chases me around the water, splashing.

"Piranha!" I cry.

"What?" John looks around.

"Oh, sorry, wrong jungle. There's another jungle, all the way on the other side of the world. They have these river fish that can eat a man alive. But they're little things. Death, one tiny bite at a time."

He speaks French in his divine way. "_Hmm. Well, we have crocodiles, snakes, sharks, and eels. Maybe not all in this river but I've seen them._"

I look around the glade, thick walls of impenetrable foliage in every direction save the trail. We seem as far from civilization as one can achieve. We're primitive savages, naked, in a primordial forest. "Do you think you'll always live here? Do you ever wish to see where your parents came from?"

"_You mean England? I'd like to. D'Arnot told me it's always cold and raining there. You have to wear the clothes._"

"Yes, we wouldn't want that, would we? So, what about your ape family? Are they far?"

"_Depends on the time of year, but not too far. I see them every once in a while. They do not have as good memories as man so sometime they forget about me when I'm gone. They rarely stray from the tribe so when someone leaves, they believe he has died_."

"Aw, that's sad. I think if I left here right now I would feel dead."

"_So then stay. There's plenty of room_."

I smile at him. If only…We could live in this paradise of wild animals, high up in a tree, not a care in the world.

I spot movement near the edge of the river. Four antelope creep up, their ears twitching. John's strong hand lands on my shoulder.

"Be still," he says. First one, then all four drink. "The one on the left is their mother."

I watch, fascinated.

The air explodes with gunfire. Blood spurts from the mother. The three children turn to run, but a second barrage of gunfire fells them. I scream. "No!"

I swim toward them, like I could shield them, but their blood coats the bushes and leaks toward the river. I run up to the creatures, the first bovines I've seen since arriving.

It's then that I realize that I'm completely naked and facing the entire troop of men.

"Oh, goodness!" I cross my chest but it's too late. I rush back into the water, ignoring the calls from the men. A few of them dash after me, I don't know why. John's gone, probably barked up some tree.

I reach the opposite shore, jump to where I hung my clothes, and throw them on still damp. I grasp Robert's confiscated rifle, dripping with mud, and aim it at the men splashing toward me.

"Come any closer and I'll put a hole right through you! Can't a girl take a bath in this godforsaken jungle?"

The swimmers hold up their hands and grin at me. They turn to their mates. "Bathing time! Everyone into the pool!" The remaining men throw off their clothes and jump in. I try not to retch. I glance up to spot John sitting on a branch grinning like a monkey. He points back to the kills. I spot his friend the Lion dragging one of the carcasses away.

The soldiers notice. "Hey, they're stealing our meat. Kill that lion!"

I fire into the air, nearly shooting John down. I reload the next cartridge. "You harm the lion, I shoot you!"

Lion had backed away hearing the shot, but he sneaks close, grabs the kill in his mighty jaws, and tugs it away into the woods.

Captain Mann charges into view from upriver. "What the hell is going on here?"

Half the company is splashing in the water, some are wrestling in the mud. I put the butt of the rifle down.

Captain Mann all but lashes the man with his riding crop until they are all onshore and properly attired. "I want those deer cleaned and cooked by sundown. I want every man to wash every scrap of clothes he owns. And you."

He points at me. I grin my best pixie grin. "If I find that you had a hand in this ruckus, I shall whip your behind myself."

I shake my head up at John, hoping he doesn't attack the Captain. "Yes sir," I say. "But those aren't deer. They are bushbucks, a type of antelope. And they were beautiful creatures, so you had better not burn them or cook them in some awful indigestible manner. They deserve our respect and we should rejoice over what they have provided us."

I can see John nodding up there. He jumps across a few branches, heading in the direction of Lion.

I don't know what happened, but suddenly the men of the troop, instead of drooling and whistling at me, have started treating me with a modicum of respect. Some of them call me over to make idle conversation, asking how I knew what animals they were, how I think we could catch more. I would think that after my brash display that they would up their silliness, but it proves to be quite the opposite. Perhaps my demonstration of gunmanship has cowed them for the moment.

We arrive safely back into the compound, and soon the scent of roasting bushbuck fills the air. I am sorry to see them die, but I'm impressed by how many men want to serve me the finest cut of the beast. I choose three cuts and share it with Esmeralda.

All the while, I keep my eyes on the forest, counting the moments until my next encounter with John, my Jungle King.

#

It doesn't take long for Father to pull me off to a dark corner of the compound as I'm enjoying our primitive repast under glimmering torches.

"Jane," he hisses. "Is this true? You went swimming naked with that man? You shot at the troops? What has happened to you?" His eyes are wide, and his arm trembles.

"Nothing. You misunderstand. I fell in some nasty mud and I needed to wash. He's a jungle man, Dad. Nudity isn't an issue for him."

Father gasps. "Jane, you have done nothing but act completely irrational since we arrived here. You are not the same girl that left Baltimore. Do you have any explanation? I cannot help but think that there is some strange influence upon your psyche."

I shake my head, dipping a hunk of tender bushbuck meat into some gravy on my plate. "No. There's nothing." I toss it into my mouth, savoring the juicy meat.

"Your behavior has become intolerable. You have lied to me, disobeyed me, and disappointed me. You leave me with little choice. I cannot very well confine you, deny you privileges, or take much away as we lie in a deep jungle. However, as a punishment for your abject disobedience and disregard for the forces that brought you here…" Father clears his throat. "Jane, as of this moment, you have been expelled as a student at Johns Hopkins University. Your services on this expedition are no longer required."

I drop the plate. "What?! Have you gone dodgy?"

"Furthermore, you are no longer allowed to utilize the resources of this expedition. You are hereby banned from this compound, and your return passage on the ship has been cancelled."

"Whaaatt?! You can't do that."

Two of the British Marines appear behind Dad.

I back up a step. "Dad? Is this a joke? Okay, I get it. I'll behave from now on. I won't shoot the men or go swimming. I promise! Ha ha, very funny Dad. Excellent joke."

"It's too late, Jane. I warned you. Officers? This woman is trespassing. Please escort her out of the compound."

The men grab me.

I struggle but they hold fast. "Dad? Stop! This isn't funny. Call them off already."

He turns his back.

"Dad! Come on. I've learned my lesson. Please, don't do this. I won't misbehave again, I promise. I swear! Don't do this!"

He shakes his head, not looking at me.

The men begin to drag me. "DAAADDY!"

Tears course down my face. I struggle but the men are strong. They lead me to the gate and toss me into the mud beyond like I'm some drunkard at a tavern.

The gate slams shut. I pound on it with my fists. "You can't do this to your own daughter! Please! Don't do this to me!"

Nothing.

"Ahh!"

I pound. I stomp. I plead at the wood. I sing patriotic songs, both American and British. I circle the palisade, searching for ingress but find none, the defense complete. Finally, I collapse against the gate, hoping that some party would return and let me in.

I sit there for an hour, maybe two, as eyes peer out through the night forest, my arms wrapped around my shoulders, hoping Dad will come out, hoping John will show up. Finally the gates opens and Esmeralda emerges.

"Essie! Do you bring word? Am I forgiven yet?"

She shakes her head. "He's pretty steamed." She hands me a sack. "Got some vittles for you. Says you need to vacate the gate area or they'll shoot."

"Just let them try."

"Hun, you really got in deep. He might need a day or two to calm hisself. You done some things they ain't gonna forgive none too soon. You need to start figurin' 'bout yourself, hear? You got somewhere you can sack 'til he's ready?"

I nod. "Yeah. John's got a place. If I can find it. It's fairly far."

"You think you can trust that man?"

I look into Esmeralda's eyes. "He's good, I can feel it."

"What about you? Ain't no shortage of rotten fruit in your basket."

I have no answer to that. "I don't know anymore. I myself don't understand the things I'm doing."

Esmeralda rubs my shoulder. "I wonder. Maybe sometimes, when we're wee things, we do the things we're supposed to. What other people done tell us. It's natural. Then when we gets older, we do things that maybe we were _born_ to do. You know. Our fortune."

"You think I have a destiny?"

"We all do. Ain't necessarily pretty, though. Maybe you're booked to die out here in this lonely jungle. Maybe you're meant to stick with that feller. Maybe you dig up something here that makes you all famous when you come back. Like that critter you're itching to grab."

"What about you? You're on this adventure as much as I am. What's your destiny? To be a housemaid? What if _you_ discover something big and become famous?"

Esmeralda shakes her head. "I ain't about that. There ain't no stars up in the sky for me."

"Maybe, maybe that's because you haven't done anything to _change_ your destiny. Maybe it's not destiny at all. Maybe it's just having the guts to blaze your own destiny."

"That ain't me." Esmeralda shuffled her feet, and then swats at bugs.

"Nonsense. You could start right now."

"How?"

"Come with me on this adventure."

"What, as your maid? Me gonna clean your jungle path?"

"No! As my friend."

Esmeralda laughs. "Out there, in the jungle, with gators and tigers and venomous birds?"

I laugh. "There are no gators, tigers, or deadly birds. You're thinking the wrong continent. I've still got my Colt, in case we run into trouble. What do you say?"

Esmeralda looks back at the compound. "I don't know, Miss Porter. Seems like it would be much safer back yonder."

"Nonsense. Those men are idiots, and will most likely discover a new species of venomous bird the hard way. Come, we'll take on Africa, just the two of us."

Esmeralda eyes me. "You serious. Aiming to bite yourself some of this here jungle, all by your lonesome."

I hold out my hand. "Come. You don't want to be a maid all your life. I don't want to be my father's pet all of mine. If you want freedom, come with me. I'm done with civilization. The hell with Maryland, and the hell with college."

Esmeralda eyes the jungle. "Sure is dark in there."

"Not as dark as in there." I motion to the compound.

Within fifty paces we're surrounded by blackness. I have no sense of direction. Climbing trees in the dark proves hopeless. But something pushes me on. "This way. Over here. Follow me." I don't let Esmeralda hear the doubt I feel in my soul. "Not much further." We could be going in circles, we could be heading over a cliff. I sort of navigate by scent, following good smells and avoiding anything rough.

Spent, we lay down in a bed of grasses, actually not much worse than what we have in the compound, and sleep in the wild jungle, no fires to keep us safe.

#

Dawn finds us alone, unharmed, and mighty hungry. A light mist falls, casting a gloom over the jungle. Nothing is familiar, and with the sun hidden, I have no sense of direction. We eat a bit of the cooked bushbuck Esmeralda had procured for us and gather some fruits.

Sated, I climb a tree. I see nothing but endless jungle in every direction disappearing into fog. I think we traveled inland during the night, probably due east, but it's hard to determine. I look for the tell-tale sprouts and growths.

"Esmeralda," I call down.

"What?"

"I think I can find his home, but I need to travel up here. You'll need to follow."

"What? You gone nuts?"

"It's the only way."

"You leaving me here with poisonous birds?"

I sigh. "Yes. But there are way more birds up here, just so you know. But if you see any with three eyes and two tails, you better start running."

I don't know if the growths help or hurt my progress. I start imagining the look Father's face when he discovers that I'm not sitting outside the compound sulking. They'll probably send out a party for me, again.

_What if they don't?_

I push that thought aside. I decide that I will win John's cooperation all by myself. They'll have to deal with me as his agent.

After an hour of progress, I call a halt and slide down to Esmeralda. The poor woman's covered in scratches.

"I wanna go back," she whines. "I ain't no jungle person. I'll be a maid, it's good work. This don't feel like freedom at all."

"Huh. The problem here is your wardrobe. You'll have to strip down like me."

"But I'll get scratched."

"It's the clothes catching the vines that's scratching you. You kind of need to swim through it. I'll show you."

We tear off Esmeralda's sleeves, roll up her pants, and toss away her boots. I lead her through the brush, using my hands to carve a path. "See?"

"Mebbe. You hear that?"

Something crunches in the underbrush. I tense. My hand travels to the Colt, our only defense. There's more crackling, seemingly from everywhere. To our sides, over our heads, and from the treetops.

"Lookee," Esmeralda says in a quiet whisper.

Dark shapes move through the trees, swinging by their hands and feet. We crouch down, but we're surrounded on all sides.

The shapes gather in a little clearing before us. We slip through the brush and eye the proceedings.

It's a group of great apes, perhaps forty in all. Little babies cling to their mother's backs. Small ones run around like toddlers. Stout males tend to smaller females or vice-versa. They seem to be harvesting some form of grass to eat the seeds. A huge male stands at the center of the clearing. He screeches at the others, waving his fist.

"Captain Mann," I whisper to Esmeralda.

She giggles and points to an old, grey-haired ape who's arranging stones in some kind of pattern. "Professor Porter."

"Yes, that's Dad alright." A smaller, young male gets screeched at by a female and chased away. "Robert."

"And she's you."

"No. Am I really that floppy?"

"And that's why we ain't apes, we know enough to wear us some bras."

"Better than a corset."

The lead ape sniffs the air and raises his arm. The other apes quiet and glance around suspiciously.

I hear movement behind us. It's a boy ape, staring at us. He lifts a hand.

For some reason I think he wants to shake. I take his hand. He screeches.

It's instant chaos.

Esmeralda's screaming. Apes run and jump in a flurry all around us. I scream and duck. There's nowhere to run, no nearby trees to climb—although I doubt I could climb away from apes. The ape leader approaches us and beats his chest. I grab my Colt, but six rounds against four dozen apes seems like bad odds.

Esmeralda claws my shoulders. "We gonna die! We gonna die!"

I shoot my gun in the air.

Bad mistake. Instead of scaring them, the sound seems to infuriate them. Some take sticks and branches and beat them on the ground. Others jump and scream. The women hurry the children away from us, leaving us surrounded by males, the least of which is probably three hundred pounds.

I take aim at the big one. I'd hate to harm such magnificent creatures, but they are definitely arousing themselves into a frenzy, and it may only be moments before he leads an attack.

And then, as you probably guessed already, a flash of flesh swings past. A body leaps from the sky in a tumbling spin and lands at the feet of the big ape.

John.

He tackles the beast. They tumble to the ground, swinging and slapping each other. The beast opens his mouth wide, his fangs gleaming in a ray of sunshine.

"John! Look out!"

But instead of biting, the beast creates a hideous noise, deep from the bowels of his belly. He picks John up, and places him on the ground. His belly continues to shake.

"Damn, I swear that ape is laughing," I say to Esmeralda.

John rubs the beast's ribs and the laughter redoubles.

"Look, they're friends."

John and the beast seem to be having some kind of conversation with grunts and mutters and scratching. The beast points to me and snarls. John rubs his shoulder, then punches the monster straight across the jaw. The great ape falls, but picks himself up, bowing at John.

John turns to me. "He says he's sorry."

I pull Esmeralda out of the bush, and approach John cautiously, but the apes have returned to their foraging as if nothing happened.

Once I get within a few steps of him I jump into his arms. We kiss in a way that takes my breath away. His face grows cross.

"Did you shoot at my family?"

"Your family?" I gasp. "These are your family? And no, just in the air, away from the trees. They gave me such a fright."

"Good. Yes, this Kerchak, my cousin. I once fought his father to be king of tribe. He was mean ape who no one liked. Kerchak and I had also been enemies our whole lives, but I saved his baby daughter and we became close friends. He now runs tribe in my absence, leading them to various feeding grounds."

A few of the curious little ones sidle up to me. I squat down and keep still. They run their fingers through my hair, play with my nose, and try to look under what remains my clothes as if I'm hiding something.

A couple older girl-apes bring me and John some fruit. Esmeralda huddles behind me, but she also is the object of their attention.

"These monkeys cute lil' things," she says.

John whistles and waves and the little ones scamper away. "Why are you out here all alone?"

I sigh. "They kicked me out, after the whole swimming incident. I'm on my own, John, nowhere to go."

"And her?"

"She wants to be free. She's been a servant all her life. I told her she could be a free person in the jungle."

"No one's free in jungle unless they're willing to fight for it."

I gaze into his eyes. I just want to hug him all day. "We'll need some kind of home. Maybe you could help Esmeralda and I build a home. Or find a cave."

John frowns. "I advise against it. I think it best to get you back to your people."

It's like John just dropped me back into a pool of slime. "Wh-what? I just escaped them. John, I never want to go back there again. Please, don't make me. You can drag me back but I won't go."

John smiles at me. "Good. Come. I want to show you something." He grasps my hand and leads me away.

I stop him and nod to Esmeralda. "What about her? We can't leave her here, surrounded by apes."

"Better than alone in the jungle. She'll be perfectly safe." John barks orders to the apes. They eye my former maid.

"Don't you go leaving me," says Esmeralda, hands on her hips.

I stop John and return to Esmeralda. I grasp her hands. "We won't be gone long."

"What am I supposed to do 'til y'all get back?"

"I need to do this. I need to find out why my heart surges in his presence. This is John's family. They must like having people around. They'll take care of you, I promise. I wish you could travel with us. Do you think you could hold out until sunset?"

Esmeralda huffs, and then wraps her arms around me. "You take care. This is your adventure. I'll just hang with these beasties for a while."

With a heavy heart, John and I climb into the trees and run along the paths of the sky highway. I soon feel an exhilaration beyond anything I've known before, but a fear grips me.

What if John's taking me somewhere…to consummate our love? I'm thrilled and terrified all at once. I'm too focused on my balance and keeping up with John to truly ponder it, but I know it must happen soon.

I mean, I kind of _have_ to at this point, don't I?


	6. Chapter 5

Chapter Five

We travel through the tree and forest paths. I discover John's secret—he's blazing the trail as we go by choosing where he steps, what he grabs, how he touches things, where he leaves vines, turning a rock here and there. It's ingenious. I then learn to spot his past markings—a rough patch in the bark, a bent twig, a snake's skull.

I stumble over every new or unusual specimen I find, but John is ever patient, adding his own insights on the behaviors of the creatures. This moth only sits on the north side of the trunk. This worm only emerges when wet. This bird sings differently almost every week, but it's the same song as his fellows.

As the day wears on, I almost forget poor Esmeralda in my rapture of discovery. I suddenly realize the sun is close to the western horizon. "Oh, John, we must return. Essie must be so worried."

"No," he says. "Come." He beckons me further into the forest.

I stand on my high bough. "We cannot leave her to the whims of the fierce denizens of the forest."

John gives me a look of consternation. I wonder if he's ever dealt with the whims of women before. "Come. I must show you something."

I stand straight. "No. I'm returning to her."

He begins hooting like an ape, jumping up and down on his branch, as if he could intimidate me. For a moment I fear he may simply toss me on his shoulder and be off with me.

"Very well," he says, growing calm. "I will show you she fine. Then will you come?"

"Come where?"

"Many day journey. I promise, Essie be fine. My family no let her harm."

I eye the ape man. Leaving Esmeralda alone for days in the jungle—it is madness. I ponder this as we return to the ape glade. From high above, I survey the scene. Esmeralda sits with the apes, grooming them as if she's done this her whole life.

"It is scent," says John. "Once they know scent, it not scare them."

"But how do I know she'll be protected?"

"Watch."

From deep in the barrel of John's chest comes a roar that almost dislodges me from my perch. The apes react instantly, running amok, hurtling into the branches. One of the males lifts Esmeralda bodily and carries her to safety. After a few minutes of chattering among themselves, the apes relax, carefully checking the perimeter for intruders. Essie's a bit perturbed, but appears unhurt.

"Come," says John, his gaze fixing mine. "She all safe. We go."

#

Where the foliage is thin, I see it, the squat mountain, growing. For days we travel thus. I feel my body growing stronger, requiring less effort to keep up, and navigating the arboreal paths faster by the hour. At night we huddle around a small fire, cuddling. John wants to hear all about Maryland so I talk for hours about my home, my studies, the grand Chesapeake Bay, the other places to which I've travelled. He watches me intently, as much as I'd study a bug. Listening to me, his English improves by the hour, as he's almost a perfect mimic.

He in turn tells me about his life, growing up in the jungle, his adoption first by the great apes and then by a native tribe, how he fought his way to become the leader of both the apes and his tribe that lies further east. I cradle myself in his arms, wondering how long I can postpone the inevitable, when our passions explode and steps are taken that can never be undone.

I want his touch so badly that I shake.

I know what that would mean. I would be his wife, bound to a wild man for life, and forget everything I've worked on since early childhood. Goodbye academics, so long tenure.

Despite my father's betrayal, I cannot turn my back on my further education. If had my degree, my professorship, then I might consider staying, creating a research center. Many professors spend their entire careers afield, hardly ever returning to teach, only to publish.

With one act of passion, I could throw all that away. With his breath on my neck, it's all I can do to not roll over and beg him for kisses. I hope his struggles are as great as mine, as although he has not acted upon them, his intense gaze curls my toes. If he but command, it, I would lay down before him, a supplicant to my wild master.

Yet part of me frets that he actually finds me repulsive, a wan thing compared to what lurks in the jungle. He might mistake my own reluctance as coldness or dislike. Or I might be mistaking his generosity for pity. I do remember his promise, that first night, that I would be his. Surely that was nothing but a simple youthful boast. I shall make a determination as soon as possible. As soon as I feel I am ready for any answer.

But I'm certainly not ready. What if I lose myself in his arms? What if I'm meant to be back in Baltimore, poring over dusty books in dark chambers? Perhaps Father is right.

Hog swill. Someone has to write those books. Someone has to risk the wilds so that other, warily souls might gaze upon their writings longingly, wishing they possessed the fortitude to venture into the unknown. I did not partake of this journey lightly, and I expect to repay those who have supported me with wondrous tales of adventure.

We encounter other hunting parties from time to time, armed with spears or ancient muskets, but we shelter secure in the trees. Depending on the tribe, John either lets them pass unmolested, or he drops large nuts upon them, scaring them off. Some try to catch us by climbing but we elude them, laughing at them the whole time.

The more adventures we have, the more I realize: We are jungle gods.

#

One morning John wakes me up all a-fluster. "Tantor," he says. "Tantor has come."

He pulls me to my feet and beckons me. We run through the woods. I hear a curious sound like some off-key brass band warming up. The jungle opens to a river, and splashing in that river is a herd of giant African elephants, gray and brown mounds of mammal. I almost fall to my knees in wonder. They turn their enormous heads to us and trumpet a greeting. I think they're wagging their tails, too.

John runs up to one huge fellow who practically lifts John in his trunk. He's an enormous brute, but young. A long scar runs across his face, and one of his tusks is only half-length, both the apparent result of a battle.

The other elephants sniff John or tousle his hair with their snouts. John waves to me.

A few of them trumpet warnings as I approach but John gestures at them. Once close enough, they examine me with their trunks, the ends of which serve a similar function as human fingers. Fingers with a nose attached.

A trunk wraps around me and lifts me up. I try not to scream.

"Hey," calls John to the youth who hoists me. John growls and purrs and makes his own trumpet sound and the trunk puts me down, and then strokes my hair in an apparent apology.

"Are these your family too?" I ask John.

"Sort of. Tantor and I met each other very young. He's now the leader of this pack. We've been through many a battle together."

I look at the girl elephant who picked me up. "How old do you think she is?"

"Probably the same as you," says John. "About seventeen. Elephants age as we do, and live to be the same age. But they start out much larger, and can walk almost from birth, so they don't have helpless babies as we do."

I stroke the side of her trunk. "You're a pretty one, aren't you? What's her name?"

"What do you want to call her?"

"What about Minnie?"

"Minnie it is."

"Would you like a ride?"

John pats the side of Tantor who lowers his head and hoists John up with his trunk.

Minnie snorts, grabs me by the legs, and throws me on top, almost killing me. She and I will have to have a talk. I find a spot that's comfortable and we tromp off toward the mountain.

As we walk, Minnie sidles off to one particular young bull elephant. He struts away. A while later she tries again, but he's cool to her.

"Aw, poor Minnie." I rub her behind the ear and her trunk nuzzles me. "We need to do something to get his attention. Hmm. I wonder what a boy elephant likes. Let's ask John."

I nudge Minnie over to my jungle man. "Say, what do boy elephants fancy?"

John thinks for a minute. "Same as a human boy. Food."

"What's their favorite?"

John lists off some local fruits. "From high up where they can't reach."

"Thanks! Come, Minnie, let's gather some fruit." We head over to the jungle's edge. I grab a vine and climb up to the forest, while Minnie follows me down below, trumpeting forlornly. I throw down some fruit which she eats. "No, Minnie. Save them."

I try to signal by making my arms look like a trunk and gathering them up. Minnie figures it out and starts collecting the fruit. I slide back down to her.

She gallops off to find her boy. We meet them at a pool where some of the larger elephants are spraying their backs to cool off. "Okay, Minnie, let's see what he does now."

Minnie lays the fruit at her beau's feet. He snorts and stomps, and then crushes the fruit, bellowing at Minnie. She turns and runs, hanging her poor head.

"Minnie. Minnie! Stop." Minnie finds a stand of trees and hides.

I see red.

I jump off her back and stride back down the hill. I walk right up to the callous beast. "You don't treat Minnie that way, you hear?" And then I slap him right in the mouth.

I don't think elephants like to be slapped. He huffs and puffs, but I stare him in the eye. "You go to Minnie right now and apologize. Now!"

I point up the hill to Minnie who's all but rolled over in shame.

The bull stands on his hind legs, chomps his teeth, but I don't move a muscle. He could stomp me to death or gore me with his tusk, strangle me with his trunk. "Move it!"

He finally looks at Minnie and moves off. I follow him up the hill. Minnie scoots away from him but he walks slow, his head hanging apologetically. She screeches and hoots, painful and sad, and he bows his head. Finally she lets him rub her head with his trunk.

"Good," I say. "You treat her poorly again, and I shall beat your hide with a switch. Now scoot, go play with your friends." I shoo him away and remount Minnie, matter settled. John stares at me as I've stomped my own fruit.

Before we rejoin the herd, I find more choice morsels that I share just with Minnie, and I knit a flower garland for her. She watches my every move with keen interest, trying to help with her trunk by picking flowers and grasses, except she more often than not eats them. I catch John sneaking peeks at us now and then, and I wink at him or blow him a kiss. He shakes his head but grins.

When we rejoin the herd again, Minnie heads to her beau again but I stop her. "No. He had his chance with you."

Minnie trumpets her annoyance with me but I hold firm. "You did not just get all dressed up for more humiliation from that boor. Don't tell me there aren't any other boys in town." I scan the herd. There seems to be a youth near the rear. "What about him?"

Minnie trots a little faster, away from him.

"Well, perhaps his tusks aren't so long, and he kinda stumbles over his own trunk. But look, he stopped to check out that stand of flowers. Maybe he'd appreciate you. Come on, just give him a chance."

Minnie snorts, but I coax her over. The fellow seems a bit shy, like Minnie's near him by accident, but I convince her to pass him the fruit. He takes one, twirls it around, and then tosses it up into his mouth. I think Minnie giggles.

"See?"

Their trunks intertwine. From that moment on, they're inseparable.

John directs Tantor back to us. "Why are you dallying in the back?"

In all my matchmaking I had forgotten my own amorousness. "Uh, nothing."

John eyes the elephants. "With your attention, soon the forest will be bursting with elephants. Come." He holds out his hand.

I pat Minnie goodbye and jump over to Tantor, no mean feat, barely catching his fingers before I'm an elephant sandwich. But soon I'm nestled in behind John as we start the ascent up the side of the mountain.

#

After bidding adieu to Tantor, we pass through narrow footpaths along the side of the mountain, sheer cliff to one side, and a precipitous drop to the other. One misplaced foot, and we're tumbling to our deaths. Without John, I wouldn't have found the path at all, as the mountain seems impenetrable. I wonder how many days of his youth he spent gleaning this passage. John's given no inkling as to our destination, but I sense something mysterious in the offing if he is so eager about it.

For the first time I begin missing my boots, as the ground is rocky and sharp, but John complains not, so neither shall I. Toward evening, we finally enter a narrow valley, nestled between high peaks. Down below, I spot ruins.

I sprint down to the valley floor. Large stones have tumbled everywhere, but I still see occasional vine-covered columns, outlines of boulevards, foundations of buildings, and a central mount where I image a grand temple used to stand.

"What was this place?" I gasp in awe. I judge the ruins to be hundreds, if not thousands of years old. An entire city used to thrive here.

"This is the Lost City," says John. "I discovered it as a child. Come." He leads me to what could be described as a small arena, a square surrounded by steps where perhaps a thousand people could stand and watch the proceedings.

"Wait here." John walks to one end and disappears into a hole in the ground.

I walk through the arena, visualizing hordes of bloodthirsty savages watching some spectacle or other, where primitive beasts fight gladiators while virgins wait for their ritual sacrifice. John returns wearing a helmet and breastplate, looking like something out of a prop department of a Shakespearian troupe. He swings a long sword.

I giggle, clapping. "Excellent! Just as I imagined it."

John points to the ground behind him. "And for the lady?"

I spot another set of armaments. I run over and don the clumsy metal. "Did you find these here?"

"Years ago."

I examine the workmanship, aged and rust-stained. "I wonder…this could be ancient Roman. Could this have been a Roman garrison?"

"_En garde!_"

John waves the sword at me.

Now I have taken many a fencing lesson, but the sword I hoist is no rapier. We cross blades a few times, laughing as we fill the valley with the clangs of metal striking metal.

John swings a lazy chop at my head.

"Hey! Oh no you don't." I strike his breastplate.

We grapple for second and fall the ground.

"Ow."

"Jane!" John's face is full of concern.

"My hip."

John kneels over me. I grab him and push him to the ground and crawl on top of him. I try to kiss him but our helmets clang together.

John rolls back on top of me. He takes off his helmet, and then mine. His eyes fill with desire. We kiss on the ground where Roman gladiators might have fought and died. I fill with the need to give myself to John completely, all the pent-up emotion of nights of close contact and days filled with exploration. There is one specimen I long to explore, to study at length. I understand these thoughts may be inappropriate for a 19th-century girl, but I now confess to them. Blame the intoxicating effect of the deep jungle, of vigorous physical activity, or perhaps my own failings as a human being.

Here, all alone in the middle of an abandoned city, I want to become his, and his alone.

John removes his breastplate, and then helps me with mine.

This is the time. I have no doubts, no qualms. Everything is perfect.

John's hands roam across my body, pulling off my shirt and bra, loosening my hair. His mouth kisses mine, travels to my neck, my breasts, my belly. His hands reach into my pants. A moan escapes my lips as shivers of pleasure burst from his every touch.

My mouth tastes his flesh, nips his shoulder, while my hands grasp his back, run through his hair. My blood runs so hot that I think it will boil out of my body.

Now is the moment, the perfect moment to become one, in a forgotten city in a wild continent.

Except for one small thing—the stands of the ancient arena around us fill with dark, savage men.

I scream.

In an instant, John springs off me, grabs the swords, and swings them in dangerous arcs. I scramble to clothe myself. Curse those men. Why must my every attempt at seduction be met with a congress of spying eyes?

The men level dangerous spears at John. They far outnumber us, and more trickle into the stands by the second. I hold my shirt to my chest while I scramble for my Colt.

A tall man steps forward, a giant who towers even over John. His whole body is scarred and tattooed, bearing dozens of piercings holding loops of gold. I have never seen a man more savage or primitive.

The man speaks in his native tongue full of clicks and hoots.

John responds in kind. Their voices are angry, growling, until I realize where the dark men are pointing .

They're angry at _me_. Again. I suppose I must always be the one blamed, as if John himself hadn't been staring a hole through my clothes the last few days.

I set myself behind John, glancing over his shoulder at the menacing men, but I lower my weapon. Their towering native leader raises his arms and shouts as if to say, "enough!" Everyone quiets.

He approaches, his white eyes gleaming from his black face, regarding me with a cold stare. I shrink behind John. He talks slowly, deliberately. John replies in kind. The huge man seems to sigh and shake his head.

John glances back at me, sees that I'm still half-clothed. "Oh, sorry, Jane. These men are my friends." John sticks his swords in the ground and shields me while I slip my bra and shirt back on. My face must be burning red to reflect the embarrassment in my soul.

"Friends? John, what the devil is going on? Why are they here?"

"Please, all will be explained. You must know that this is their sacred ground, and we have violated it."

"John, what were you thinking, leading me here?" I know exactly what he was thinking. I suddenly wish _I_ had been thinking. Or been not thinking. Or something. I'm confused even as I write this.

John's hand touches my shoulder in a protective gesture and I lean into him. We turn to the huge man. "Jane Porter of Baltimore, this is Zule, Chief of the Waziri."

"Pleasure to meet you," I say, craning my neck to see the savage's face that splits the sky, "and I apologize for any affront we may have caused."

John translates. I try to meet his gaze although this Zule stares down at me in a withering glare. The things that I think about myself in that moment are not appropriate for publication. Suffice it to say that once my egregious passion ebbs, shame returns.

"Welcome to the Lost City," he says through John. "Apology accepted. Tarzan should not have brought you here."

They chatter for a minute in their tongue.

Another voice enters the arena. "John? Monsieur Clayton?"

"D'Arnot!" John rushes from my side to greet a small man dressed in French Marine trappings.

After they exchange greetings, Chief Zule directs his men about, some taking defensive positions around the arena. A boy springs forward and leads me to an encampment that I swear was not there two hours ago. But already, women are stirring pots and skinning freshly killed animals. The boy takes me to a tent that houses a young girl.

"Hello," I say, doubting the savage child might understand.

Her eyes go wide. "You, you speak English?"

"Yes, I do. Do you know it?"

"I go school. We return in weeks. You from London?"

"No, I'm from America. Baltimore."

"Never heard. Is far?"

I nod. "Very. Many weeks by boat. Hi, I'm Jane. What's your name?" I extend my hand.

"Hello, Jane. I am Zana. I am pleased to meet you." The girl takes my hand and curtsies.

I'm impressed. "Pleasure to meet you too. So, how did you come to go to school?"

"My father is Chief. He want me learn good. Here, help me make beds. You sleep here."

I look around at the buckskin tent and grass mattresses. "Where is my friend John? Why are you all here?"

"Tarzan in talks. Bad people come. Guns, death. Kill tribes, animals. Burn forest. We run."

"And the Frenchman? Who is he?"

The girl looks puzzled.

"The other white man."

"Ah, he friend of Tarzan, taught him words and letters."

"Oh. So…how much do you know about…Tarzan?"

Her eyes light up. "Oh, he be like uncle to me, know him always. He crazy tree man, think he god."

I smile. God indeed. "Has he ever had a…girl?"

She laughs. "Tarzan? Girls love him lots, when they catch him. He wandering man, though. Like the wind. Probably never want girl for long. Too much bother. Why, you like?"

My heart sinks like a hull-shot schooner. I admit to myself that I can't imagine M. Clayton ever settling down. I don't even think he has a proper home, just that tree-house near the coast.

Of course my own dreams revolve around traveling, exploring, leaving home for months at a time. But suddenly the thought of doing all those things alone is dreadful, cold, and heart-rending. Would John want to see the world? What if he only wants to live here?

"Why sad face?" she asks. "Oh. Ohhhh. Don't you worry, Miss Jane. One thing I know about Tarzan, he loyal to a fault. If he wants you, nothing you can do to stop it."

#

I long for a warm bath, to wash off the scent of elephant and dirt and sweat and the insect repellant that doubles as human repellant. I have the only straight hair among the tribe of some three dozen extended families, but after days on the trail, my rat's nest is not so distinguishable from theirs. After washing in a stream with what passes for soap, I'm able to procure a comb and begin the lengthy process of detangling my personal jungle. Zana fetches me a complete native outfit to replace my tattered expedition garb, and now I sit bedecked in a woven tunic, a garland of beads, various accoutrements in my hair, bracelets, anklets, and red stain for my lips that tastes like raspberry.

After night settles in, a boy comes to fetch me. He leads me into a hole in the ground near the arena. After a few dozen paces lit only by a torch, we enter a vast chamber carved into the very side of the mountain in some ancient time. Torches encircle the room. I glance at the walls. Crude drawings of animals dance in the dim light. I wonder if this site even predates the Romans, and consequently contemplate whether I should study to become an archaeologist as well as a zoologist. An air of mystery built of ages permeates the chamber.

A round rough-hewn wooden table occupies the center of the chamber. Around it sit the tribe's fierce warriors, bedecked in feathers and bone, along with John. They remind me of our native Sioux. Along a stone shelf beyond the table squat older men, some bald and white-haired, I assume the tribe's elders.

Half-eaten platters of food litter the table. The men argue with echoing voices, Zule's slapping the table to make some point, John's gesturing with his hands.

The Frenchmen friend of John sidles up to me.

"Good evening, mademoiselle," he says in French-coated English with a slight bow. "Let me introduce myself. I am 1st Lt. D'Arnot, of the French Foreign Legion."

I nod to him, still feeling far less than presentable to an officer. "Pleasure to meet you. I am Jane Porter, of the Baltimore Porters. Can you tell me what they're arguing about?"

D'Arnot sighs and glances at the ceiling. "What are they not arguing about? The Waziri have a unique culture in these parts. Everything must be discussed in minute detail, and then voted upon. The elders as a group can generally override the families, but only by unanimous consent. But we have no proposal on the table yet."

"So this is their congress of sorts? Arguing all day about nothing?"

D'Arnot looks around. "Actually, this is their hideout of last resort. Although impenetrable, it is also subject to siege. There are only two ways in and out of this valley and are easily defended."

John slams the table and stands up shaking his head. I wish I could understand their tongue. He and the chief seem near blows, gritting their teeth. I reach down for my Colt.

"This is where I step in." D'Arnot nods and slips between John and the chief, but John only gets more upset. D'Arnot drags John from the table and pushes him into a side room.

I follow, stopping right outside the room, and listen to them speak French. Here's my best translation of their conversation:

"_They are willing to just sit back and let the Blackroots advance_," John says. "_We cannot surrender to those thugs_."

"_John, the Waziri are a smart people. I would put them up against Scots or Germans any day, but John, they lack the numbers and moreover, the arms. Will alone cannot prevail._"

"_You know what the Blackroots do. They kill the animals, burn the forests and villages, steal the treasures. This is my land, my home. If I have to take them all on myself then I will. But these Waziri are cowards, these men who I've known all my life, they turn their tails and run. I spit on them._"

D'Arnot grabs my love's shoulders. "_John, get ahold of yourself. These are men, with families. They do not enter war lightly. You've seen war, and the dreadfulness of it. When you served as my boy, you witnessed the horrors firsthand. Do you wish that terror upon this tribe?_"

"_I do not wish them to live in cowering fear. The Blackroots will only grow bolder. I should be there already, scouting and sabotaging their lines_."

"_And why are you not?_"

John looks down. "_You know why._"

"_Ah. And you do not see that the thing that keeps you here is the same thing Zule is fighting for?_"

John is silent.

"_John, I can send word north. I can perhaps muster a garrison._"

"_France will not receive one acre of my holdings. You know I will not cede one inch. But…I do appreciate the thought._"

They both are quiet.

"_I don't know what to do_," says John.

"_There may be other forces we can—_"

John waves D'Arnot off. "_Not about the Blackfoot. They have to die. I will see to it. I'm talking about…_" his voice trails off.

D'Arnot smiles. "_Ahh. Yes. Mademoiselle Porter. She is quite exceptional, but what brings a white girl to deepest Africa?_"

"_The British have established a small outpost, fewer than a dozen men of arms, mostly scouts. Perhaps it is just an exploratory camp, but I have watched them tracking. A few have maps they keep hidden from the others. I don't trust their motives. Jane's father, an American, is among the scouts, perhaps studying growth patterns in order to formulate plantations._"

"_Yes, it is not surprising the United States is starting to look east, where they certainly don't belong. They would love to get a foothold here, if only to thumb their noses at Britain. But John, is that what troubles you?_"

I lean close, but keep in the shadows. My heart quavers at the thought that John may be distressed about me.

"_She is…Jane is amazing. She is nothing like any woman I have known. Most women I've known, they beg or plead, try to charm me with gifts or flesh. One contrary word and they fly away crying. Jane simply takes what she wants. She has adapted to the forest as if she's lived her all her life. I've tried to teach the Waziri how to tree-walk, but it escapes them. Jane's as adept as any monkey. Furthermore, Jane walks right up to animals without fear, and they sense it. She could place her head in a lion's mouth and he would but yawn wider._"

"_She sounds perfect._"

John leans against a wall, hands across his chest. "_Yes, but when she's near, she is all I can think about. Everything else, the Blackfoot, the migrations, watching the land, everything fades away and I cannot think When she leaves my sight, a cold chill grips me._ _I'm worried that she has some dark magic, some control over me, that she has bewitched me. Is this Baltimore a land of witches? I feel like a different person around her, like my own concerns are meaningless and hers are paramount. What has she done to me?_"

I shiver with both fear and exhilaration. I know little of love, but I have felt the same myself, to follow John to the ends of the jungle, discarding my own wants and needs. Perhaps we are both bewitched.

D'Arnot chuckles. "_Ah, the blush of first love. John, I assure you, whatever magic she has, it's no more than any other woman. When a beautiful girl uses her charms, she can bend the staunchest heart in the world. I assure you, my boy, it is not a bad thing. It is not witchcraft. Woman-craft perhaps. It can be a good thing, but you must be careful. If your heart is telling you to be with her, then you must do that, just as much as when your heart tells you to go and fight the Blackroot to your last breath. You must carry the same amount of courage, because a woman will test you to the limits of your soul, far more that any Blackroot legion could._"

"_I don't understand. She's just a woman. How can a woman do this?_"

D'Arnot smiles. I don't. Perhaps I've misjudged M. Clayton.

"_My boy, there will come times when you wish to strike her, to punish her, to do the things you wish to do to the Blackroot. Those are the times when you must surrender. Those are the times when you must be weak, to let her win, to apologize even if you're in the right._"

John regards D'Arnot. "_I could never hurt Jane. What makes you say this?_"

D'Arnot looks down. "_John, there are only two reasons that someone is forced to join the French Foreign Legion. The first is for killing a _man_. The second…_"

I swallow.

John looks petrified.

"_John, John, I have known you for what, almost six years? And in that time I have never seen you strike a man or animal in petty anger, although I have seen you kill many men in cold fury. You take my words too harshly. Now come, we must reason this out with the Waziri._"

John stops D'Arnot.

"_What is it?_"

"_I don't know if I can do what I must. I have never felt this way before. You know I would fight the Blackroot to the death. But I cannot until I know Jane is safe._"

"_Your feelings for her run deep_."

John nods. I almost cry. "_Yes, for her I would kill every man on the continent. But I do not trust anyone to keep her safe._"

"_What about me?_"

John eyes the Frenchman.

"_What if I were to watch over her?_" offers D'Arnot.

John shakes his head.

I hear footsteps behind me. I scoot down a side corridor and around a corner. Once the footsteps pass, I try to follow the sound of voices back, but in a minute of creeping through the winding halls, I realize I'm hopelessly lost.

#

The ancient temple is a maze of corridors. I hear echoes, distant, but I cannot determine their direction. Pure darkness encases me. I feel my way along, hoping I'll stumble back the way I came. The air is cold and musty like a tomb.

Something snatches my foot and I stumble. I kick at it but it clings fast. Heart cannoning, I reach down to find a pile of old bones.

Human bones.

I shriek. The sound echoes around me like a thousand ghosts howling at once.

I scurry away from the corpse, blindly searching for an exit to these pits, almost braining myself against a wall.

John's words tumble through my head. I'm thrilled and agonized all at once. I certainly don't want him fighting a horde of devilish invaders. At the same time, the concept of those men destroying this pristine natural habitat is revolting.

I think of his kisses, his passion. He is everything to me. I want to take him back to America. I think of John in a suit and tie and laugh. No, John was born to this jungle. America would be a stranger land to him than this jungle is to me.

I face a serious choice, a choice I'm not sure I'm ready to make.

Everything's happened so fast, that I actually feel…young. Immature. Perhaps naïve, if one could call a college-educated girl that. Why do grownups always have answers for everything? Maybe if I was older, more experienced, I'd know what to do. Maybe John would too. But right now, a war blazes in my head. Everything is so big, so important, so right now that my chest constricts like a boa's caught me. But my life's always been like that. Finish school early. Earn a college degree before most children matriculate from high school, let alone the fact that for a girl to do so is unheard of. But those decisions were easy. As I crawl through dusty, silent corridors, I wonder if I've ever truly made a hard decision in my life.

This whole spectacle with John…I've suddenly realize that I've taken him away from the defense of his land, just as much as he's taken me away from my studies. If not for him, I'd be happily cataloguing plants and animals, well on my way to my master's thesis. I'd still be a student. I'd still have my father's approval. I might locate the legendary Red-spotted Pearl Salamander and become famous.

Perhaps—perhaps we're moving too quickly. I need to gain firm control of my emotions. I need to be more…grown up. I need to decide what's most important.

After agonizing hours of blind wandering, I enter what sounds like another broad chamber. The air clings to me like jungle vines. I bump into a stone table. I examine it with my hands, and feel piles of clinking coins. I shiver.

_Treasure._

My heart thumps as my fingers examine the smooth metal trinkets, filling the room with musical dings. Dust tickles my nose, smelling of decay and disuse. I feel the impressions of ancient writing and men's heads on the coins. I recall old myths of men dying, their hands filled with fortune, their treasure room becoming their tomb. Is this to be my fate? Yet the treasure I seek lies elsewhere, in the form of a young man. If this is to be my end, then perhaps I've stumbled into the wrong story.

I hear a sound behind me, and the slightest gleam of light from a passageway. The light grows until John enters the room. I heave a mountainous sigh of relief.

"How did I know I'd find you here?" he smirks.

I gasp. John's torch illuminates a room filled with gold, from coins to jewels, crowns, bracelets, everything. "John, these items, they're priceless." I finger cold pieces of metal, all covered with a fine dust that stirs in the light of John's torch. I bring some close to the light and examine the ancient Roman and Greek writings.

"Yes. Only D'Arnot and I know of this room. And now you."

I replace the coins and run my fingers through a billion dollars' worth of gold. The riches disappear into the darkness of the far corners. I touch crowns of men dead a thousand years. I lift the scepter of an official who ruled over a kingdom lost to history.

"Oh, why did I not choose archeology? I could write a lifetime of papers about this finding. John, with these riches, you could rule England. You could own America."

He steps closer, his manly scent filling my senses, the heat of his body pushing away the chill of the chamber. "The only thing I care about in the whole world is in this room." He eyes me like his lion eyes a tasty bushbuck.

My senses start to flee again, overcome with the desire to jump into his arms and lose myself to his kisses. But somehow, my sensibility fights back.

"You…you know that's not true. You care for the elephants, and the apes, and the people of this tribe. You love this land, and all beauty within it."

He blinks. "Not as much as you."

Some kind of strength begins to pour into me, from where, I don't know. I walk to him and lay a hand on his arm. I look up into his face. "John. You cannot sacrifice everything you believe in. I heard some of your conversation with D'Arnot. We…we have to consider that what we want may not the best course."

Pain enters his eyes, the first time I've seen him suffer in any way. "How can you say that?" He pulls away and turns from me.

"John, please, listen to me." I feel like I'm taking my heart out of my chest and stomping on it. Perhaps his, too. "We can't put our needs in front of everyone else's. There is too much at stake. If these Blackroot are as bad as everyone claims, we cannot let our love stand in the way of the defense of the land."

As soon as the word leaves my lips, I realize what I've said.

John steps close and grips my hands, his gaze intense, knee-buckling. I realize with a shiver that whatever happens here, no one will interrupt. Not this time. "Tell me the truth. Do you hold love in your heart for me?"

I want to pull away, to run, but the word escapes all on its own. "Yes."

John's lips touch mine, his arms pull me close. I wrap my arms around his neck, kissing him with every fiber of my being, surrendering to my emotions. John releases me for a second. "I love you too."

It's my heart that stomps my sensibilities. I realize in a flash that no number of academic degrees or piles of riches can compare to the power that thumps in my chest. It is my sensibilities that have protected my heart, nurturing it for the day when it can take over. I know from this moment forward, my heart shall run the show.

We kiss and kiss in the quiet treasure room, all alone in the world. John finally breaks free with a curious smile. "I want to show you something."

He picks up the torch that adds pungent wood-smoke to the chamber. "I found this room years ago. As a child, we would come to this mountain retreat, never knowing what lay beneath our feet. One day, like you, I got lost in the labyrinths, for days. Thirsty and starving, I found this very room, the room in which I thought I would die among countless treasures.

"You see, I was not always the man I am now. I used to be a trickster, causing my fellows endless suffering. I was quicker, faster, stronger, and I became a tormentor. They could never catch me. I had played an awful trick on Zule and he had chased me. I escaped into the labyrinth. When I thought I had reached my end, I realized that this was a punishment for all the mean things I had done, to die in a room full of riches. The jungle gods were mocking me. I swore that if I lived, that I would never act that way again, and I would never use the riches for personal gain. But I did grant myself one exception."

He pushes aside a heavy chest with a grind and reaches under a slab. "I hid it here in case this room was ever discovered. Ahh."

He stands up, something in his hand. He steps to me and goes down on one knee. I shiver.

"Jane, I've been saving this for a long time. I didn't know if I'd ever use it, but your words tonight have swayed me. I don't know if there's a right way to do this, but Jane, I would like you to be my wife."

He extends his hand and opens it. I see a golden ring encrusted with jewels, something an Egyptian queen might have worn. My breath leaves my body, my heart stops. I look at John and then the ring.

I know I shouldn't. I know I'm too young. I know my father wouldn't approve. My hand snakes out and touches the ring, feeling the cool metal and bumpy stones. I see the fear in John's eyes, and realize he hasn't made this decision lightly. I already know my answer, and although tears run down my face, although my hand shakes and my knees wobble, I grasp the ring.

"Jane?"

"Yes, yes, of course. John, I love you so much."

We embrace, tears now fighting their way from his eyes. He opens my hand and places the ring on my finger. It fits. I eye the glittering gems.

"I want Zule to perform the rites," says John.

"John, without my father? Or Esmeralda?"

John's face scrunches. "Yes, of course. I should have thought of that. I was hoping we could perform the ceremony tonight."

I glance at the ring on my finger. My sensibilities decide to fight back. "John, you have me now and forever. I would say the vows right now. But if we are to build a life together, we cannot do it alone. I must have my father's approval, and you must earn it. I want Esmeralda at my side as my maid of honor. Please, John, we will have a lifetime as one. My father has taken care of me alone since my mother died, and has seen me through terrible times. I know we are on the outs right now, but he will relent. If your parents, human or ape, were alive, you would want them to attend too, wouldn't you?"

John nods, staring at the floor. "Yes, you are right. Our love should not be a secret. We will declare it to the world."

I pull off the ring and close his fingers around it. "You will give this to me at the proper time, under a flower canopy under the stars. We will start our new life the right way. We will tell our children of this, to inspire them to make the right choices."

Suddenly, suddenly I realize that I'm completely ready. The moment has arrived. I have no more fear of this man, of myself. I own my heart. But I choose not to give my body to him, not just yet. I suddenly feel—grown up.

"John, I hurt a lot of people when I ran off. Let me fix it, and we shall have a jungle wedding the likes of which Africa has never seen before. And then, after the wedding, we will be together forever, as one. You have your own war to fight, to protect this land, the land that we and our children will call home. I cannot hold you from that."

"If I do this, I may never return," he says, avoiding my gaze.

I gasp, dread collecting in my heart. "I know. But I heard you talking. We cannot start out our lives living in fear, in hiding or on the run. It's not my way, and I suspect it's not yours. Fate has brought us together for a reason, more than for just this moment. My father's more than likely to lock me into a cage and ship me back to America before allowing this union. But I'm willing to risk it."

John rises. "Every moment with you I love you more. But now I understand D'Arnot's words about women."

I worry that he means it literally, that he wants to strike me, but when I look in his eyes I see nothing of the sort. I rest my head against his chest. "I don't mean to be this way. I can't promise that every moment together will be happy. But we will never come close to happiness until our lives are in order."

John holds me, an embrace worth more than all the gold in the room, or in the world.

"If you will not take the ring tonight, let me at least give you something else." He pulls away and rummages around one of the corners. He returns with a simple gold chain with a small pendant, not any more elaborate than something you'd find at any quality American jewelry store, but given its antiquity, I could buy five of such stores completely stocked with it.

I gasp when I look upon it. Etched upon an opal in the center is an image of my Red-spotted Pearl Salamander. I show it to John, and he nods.

"When D'Arnot finally discovered me here, practically dead, I somehow had this clutched in my hand. This dragon is the ancient symbol for hope. Legend has it that this animal only appears to those who have lost all hope, and can give whoever views it powerful magic."

He places it over my head. The pendant rests between my breasts.

"But I have nothing for you," I say.

"All I need is your kiss."


	7. Chapter 6

Chapter Six

After examining the artifacts for hours, speculating on what each one might have been, John and I make our way back to the main meeting area, hand in hand. We take nothing but the necklace and each other's love. John shows me how to navigate through the labyrinth if I ever need to again (even blind). The secret is knowing where various stones are placed, and spotting different drawings. He's subtly posed a few of the skeletons, apparently the last defenders of this outpost, to point the right way if you know what to look for.

Outside the council chamber, I pull John aside. "My love. I heard them arguing. I want you to do whatever you have to do to keep this land safe."

"Even if I might mean my death?"

I lean to him, press my head against his chest, feel his beating heart, breathe in the scent of his skin. He wraps his strong arms around me. "I don't want it to come to that. But I will not have my future husband abandon his land or his people for me. If the cause is lost, then do not die needlessly. But do not hesitate for one moment in the face of danger because of me."

"Thank you, I needed to hear that." He kisses me on the head.

A new John Clayton enters the council chamber. I do not understand his African words, but I understand his tone as he addresses the assembled chieftains. He speaks solemnly, emotional, thundering at times with grand gestures. The audience seems awed at the end.

The great chief Zule stands up to his dizzying height, throws his spear on the table, and clasps his fist to his chest. The others do the same. I don't need an interpreter to understand the significance of this act.

They turn to the elders sitting upon high. One by one, they nod their assent.

Lt. D'Arnot, who's been standing in a corner, twiddling his mustache, approaches me. "My girl. What did you say to John? He's a changed man. Focused, intense."

I smile. "I told him that I loved him but wouldn't marry him until he defeats the Blackroot…and got my father's blessing, which may be the more difficult of the two."

The Frenchman's eyes threaten to pop loose. "_Sacrebleu_! No wonder he is motivated. And what has he asked in return for such effort?"

"That I be his wife, his lover, his confidant, and that I keep him in my heart at all times."

"Ah, good man."

John looks to me, his chest heaving with emotional as he closes arms with the chieftains, who pledge their loyalty to him. He waves them down for a moment. He walks to me and takes my hand. He speaks in their tongue, and then in English.

"I have another matter. Upon conclusion of our campaign, I shall wed Miss Jane Porter." He then translates.

The room cheers. The men bow to me and clap John on the back.

That night, the tribesman dance around a campfire while the women bring me small presents of carved wood, bone totems, or rare flowers. I am reminded of the time I visited Arizona and spent some fascinating weeks with the Navajo studying their local desert fauna. However, unlike the Waziri, the Navajo are constrained to their reservation and have been forced out of their original lands, so that visit was most uncomfortable as their hatred for the white man resulted in evil looks. But they did allow us to partake of some of their ritualistic ceremonies which I found intriguing.

Now among the Waziri, seemingly accepted in just one night, I dance and try to learn some of their native songs, a far cry from the banjo-and-fiddle bands I am accustomed to back home. They pound on drums and knock musical sticks. They draw face paint upon me, and threaten to open my earlobes to hang pendants or bones from but I politely decline. A Baltimore girl does not do such things.

Although, if we consummate our love, shall I ever be a Baltimore girl again?

The next morning I awaken with an ache in my heart that presses my body onto my straw mat. Today may be the last day I ever set eyes upon my love, a man with whom I have not yet shared intimacy, yet feel that I've known all my life. It is as if we were cast from the same mold, and somehow found each other over the great fastness of the Atlantic. I am ready. My heart is ready.

But my sensibilities—they are not. Things must be put right. John must be a man, no matter how much I fear for his fate. My father must be a part of this union, I owe him at least that. Perhaps I'm being selfish, or 'playing games' as some might suggest. Asking John for such a sacrifice in exchange for my love—in honesty, if he had not agreed to it, and instead demanded I marry and consummate on the spot, I would have complied. I wilt under his lustful gaze. The fact that he respected my wishes only further proves that the love we have for each other is true.

I burst with pride as I see John helping his fellow warriors pack mules and other animals. They are 'on the warpath,' as the Navajo would say. They move with grim determination, hoisting sharp spears, loading muskets and other antiquated firearms. I'm not ignorant to the trials of war, having pored over many accounts of our own terrible Civil War. Many of these brave men will not return, perhaps none of them. My gut twists to contemplate such an outcome.

The moment comes, the moment I've dreaded. A boy walks behind John, eying me.

John speaks. "Jane, this is Sabu. He and D'Arnot will escort you back to your father, and then Sabu will bring word back to me of your safe arrival. He is our swiftest and most cunning runner. He will then return to his people with word of our victory."

I hold a hand out in greeting. "Hello, Sabu."

"Good day to see you," he says, in passable English. He reluctantly shakes my hand, obviously a custom to which the natives are not so accustomed.

D'Arnot approaches. "Ready?"

I nod, but I breathe in gasps like a spider has bound my chest in silk.

John walks over, Manu the monkey chattering on his shoulder, the creature eying me to see if I have any treats for him today. John snatches my hand and leads me away from the pack. Under a tilted tree, John's hand strokes my hair while I hide my tear-filled eyes from him. I don't want this to be his last vision of me. The monkey strokes my hair too.

"I wish you didn't have to go," I say, my throat collapsing.

"I far prefer your company to Zule. His wife is a terrible cook."

I smile and sigh, leaning toward the warm body. His scent mixes with fresh dirt and raw gunpowder. "You haven't tasted my food yet."

He pulls my chin up and returns the smile. "I look forward to hating it."

I look into his gray eyes, full of merriment and determination. We kiss. I wrap my arms around his neck. "Be safe. You will be in my thoughts always."

"And you in mine."

We hug one last time, and then my love releases me and walks away, Manu looking back from atop his shoulder.

#

Sabu, D'Arnot, and I pick our way back through heart-stopping passes and return to the upper reaches. We find Tantor grazing in the grasses of the upper mountain near where we left him. The elephant balks at letting D'Arnot and Sabu mount but I convince him with an offering of some fruit that's just out of his reach.

We spend a day descending the mountain, but my heart lies to the east where my love heads into perilous conflict. We reenter the jungle and come across about half the herd of elephants.

They trumpet at us in a vicious warning. I sense that something terrible has happened.

"Hellfire," I breathe.

"What is it?" asks D'Arnot.

"Half of the elephants are missing." I dismount and walk toward the elephant herd, searching for Minnie. Yes, it's hard to spot a huge elephant in a group of elephants. As I approach, they _hiss_ at me. It's disturbing. Their eyes follow me, and some of them back away.

"What has happened?"

Behind me, Tantor trumpets as he, too, realizes what has happened.

I find Minnie in the rear and the poor thing is trembling. When she sees me, she runs a few paces away as if I'm a demon. "Minnie, please. Tell me what happened."

She turns to me, her head hung low. Her eyes stare at the ground and her trunk drags. A whimper escapes her throat.

"Can you show me? I need to see."

Back behind me, Tantor is stomping and screeching. D'Arnot and Sabu are huddled against a tree, trying to avoid the mad pachyderms.

"Come, Minnie, help me up."

Minnie reluctantly allows me to come aboard. I direct her to Tantor. I slide back down and walk between him and the men who are about to go for their weapons. That would be a disaster.

"Please, ssh, Tantor." He waves his head, nearly goring me with his tusk. I grab one, and then place a hand on his snout. "Ssh. It will be alright. We shall find out what has happened."

Tantor snatches me up and throws me on his back. He trumpets a vicious warning at the men and we turn away, galloping down into the valley, led by Minnie and the others. I hope the men follow.

My stomach convulses when I see the devastation. In a wide clearing next to a stream, a dozen elephants lay down, their hides covered in blood, their tusks sawn off. Two aren't dead but simply incapacitated, de-tusked while still breathing. Minnie screams, her trunk poking one of the dead lumps, her newfound beau.

Tantor cries and hollers. I wipe tears from my eyes. I slide down, and search the grounds for clues as to who perpetrated such a terrible crime. I find gun shells, boot prints, and a trail leading to the south, back into the thick forest.

Everything John has taught me about jungle craft allows their trail to stand out like the sun stands out in the sky.

Minnie collapses against her fallen love. I imagine in the ruckus that the surviving elephants stampeded away, and now they have a chance to see their fallen comrades for the first time.

I walk over to Minne. She shoves me away with her trunk and flaps her ears in warning, eying me with murder in her eyes.

I hold my hands out to her. "Minnie. I promise that his killer will come to justice."

I realize something. Once John and I complete our matrimony, this will become my land. These elephants will be under my protection. An anger the likes of which I've never known surges inside of me. Some quantity of my innocence, some additional portion of my sensibility, dies in this moment, replaced by raw emotion, black and stomach-curling.

I let the elephants mourn. I mount a nearby tree, watching in case the poachers return. After a while, I spot D'Arnot and Sabu. I intercept them before they catch the elephant's attention and provoke a deadly retaliation.

"Ssh," I say as I drop out of a tree.

Lt. D'Arnot almost shoots me in surprise. "_Mon dieu_. You are as John. You can tree-walk too?"

I nod. "John has taught me his jungle-craft. Now, I need your help. I am going after the poachers. I'm going to make them pay."

D'Arnot grins derisively. "With what, your little six-shooter? Again men with elephant rifles?"

"If I have to."

"And what will you do when you find them? Kill them?"

I hesitate. I glance back at the elephant carcasses and the outraged beasts. Vultures circle above. This will be my land, and the poachers are trespassers. "Yes. It is what John would want."

The Frenchman sneers at me. "Come, no more of ze silliness. Let's return to your father and leave these beasts alone."

D'Arnot puts a hand on my arm. I slap it away.

His face grows dark. "You will come with me child, now."

He lunges for me. I sidestep, just beyond his arms, and in one motion I whip out my revolver.

A spear point presses against my throat.

"Sabu," I say calmly. "Think carefully about what will happen if Tarzan ever finds out that you have harmed me." I keep my eyes and revolver on D'Arnot.

The spear drops away. D'Arnot raises his hands in surrender.

"Now," I say, "we will locate the culprits of this atrocity, and make them see the error of their ways in a manner that leaves it clear as to what happens to poachers upon this land. Are we clear? _Comprehendez vous_?"

The French officer nods, sweat dripping from his brow. I back away. "Good." I replace my revolver carefully. "Follow me."

I don't care if they follow me or not. I grab a vine, swing into the trees, and quickly relocate the trail. After a bit, I look back. The men have gathered our supplies and are trailing me, followed by the elephant herd led by Tantor.

I stop to smear myself with insect repellent, and then decide to trace battle lines on my face with red berry juice. I pluck a couple loose bird feathers from a nest and fasten them in my hair.

Apparently my mother used to claim she was part Cherokee, but Father never believed her. I do.

Because as of this moment, both John and I are on the warpath.

#

I smell them before I hear them, the sickening scent of tobacco and rum, unwashed bodies, and rotting elephant tusks. The bastards.

I hear them before I see them, loud, boisterous noises, clinking of glasses, the crackle of a fire.

Their donkeys, loaded with tusks, are tied up in a rough circle. From my perch high in the trees, I search for weapons in the gathering gloom. In minutes it will be dark. Only a few men on the outskirts of the camp have rifles. Their bounty weapons are lashed to the donkeys' saddles.

I do wish John was here. He'd know exactly how to proceed. D'Arnot has fallen behind, and Sabu has done his best to keep up but the thickets are too daunting for a full run. Where he had to circle the brush, I could simple swing over. How has no one else mastered tree-walking, such a simple concept once you get used to it? Whatever children John and I have may learn to swing before they can walk.

I make my first move. I twirl my feet around a length of vine, jump off a branch, and swing through the air, right at the men, my arms dangling down. Just as I reach my target, I snatch away a rifle. My momentum carries me back up into the branches where I land with my prize.

The men holler and scream, but in the twilight, they cannot spot me.

I stash the gun, scramble up a couple of branches to a choice vine, and swing back down. This time they've been alerted and are looking around…everywhere but up. I adjust myself on the way down by wiggling my waist and flapping my arms, but once again, I'm able to snatch a weapon out of a man's hand.

The men fire pistols into the night, bullets zinging by my head. My heart's now racing, thumping as I land in the branches. I hide behind a bole. They stop firing, probably to reload. I find a thin strand, tie it to the trigger of the gun, and race as far away as I can. I pull the strand and the gun blazes.

Men scream. I'm sure I didn't hit anyone, but the idea that something has snatched their guns and is now shooting from the trees is creating all kinds of consternation. I scurry away, fearing they might get in a lucky shot.

The whole camp moves. The dirty poachers run to their pack animals and grab every weapon they can. They shout and scream at the gathering night.

Okay, maybe I shouldn't, but I try to make John's strange cry. "Ahh haoo aoo ahoo ugh."

Meh. I sound like an owl with severe constipation. It does enrage the men, as their shouts redouble, coupled with a further round of gunfire. I climb higher, circling back to where I stowed the first gun. I repeat my performance, shooting the gun with a string.

The night lights up with blasts and thunders with detonations. Bullets fly so close that I feel the little rush of wind they create on my cheek. Too close! They blast and blast, splintering branches, knocking down leaves, and generally laying waste to a perfectly serviceable forest canopy.

I huddle in the crotch of a tree. A snake slithers over my foot but ignores my tasty toes. Its tongue licks my skin with a slithery touch. He's a little fellow and wriggles off. One man starts shouting at the others. The gunfire stops.

I peer down to the poachers, dark men with yellow eyes. Their apparent commander speaks in a foreign tongue. The men pair off and head into the jungle. Another group of men unloads wooden boxes from a donkey cart.

The roaming pairs off fire at anything that moves. Birds, lizards, the moon for all I know. They ignite small fires everywhere, lighting the night.

A terrific detonation rips through forest, the shock wave almost tearing me from my perch. Near me, a tree begins leaning, and then plunges down to the forest floor.

They're destroying the trees with dynamite!

Another blast, and another tree falls. Any more, and I risk being cut off from the forest.

Curses, why didn't I listen to D'Arnot? My Colt is useless against these trained men. A single falling leaf could reveal my position, and now that they are aware, one favorable shot could do me in. They don't even need to hit me, just hit my branch or vine.

Down below, they wrap something around my tree, attach a wire to it, and run away. I have seconds. I sprint out of my hiding spot and the world around me explodes with gunfire. Every which way I turn, bullets whiz by. Some impact and spray me with ruptured bark. I can barely keep my balance as I'm covering my eyes from the wicked shrapnel.

I grab a vine and swing. A bullet snaps it but I snatch another before I plummet. The branches grow thin and far apart. One rotten handhold and it's over. I land in a tree that's almost bare, the bark crumpling under my hands, my feet scraping off worse. The men below are reloading, and some run to dynamite my tree. Wetness leaks from my knees and elbows and brow. I wonder if some shot grazed me or if it's just sweat. My breath whistles through my teeth.

_Curse my desire for justice_. I'll be killed out here and John might never know. All for what? A couple of dead elephants? Animals die every day. What am I thinking? I scramble to a crotch of the tree that provides the barest of cover.

What a fool I've been. Every moment since I've laid eyes on this land has been a mistake, a sorry girlish fantasy. Now that I face death, I wish a thousand times we had consummated our love, for now I shall die a virgin, never knowing that one moment of true passion. What has my life been so far but a selfish pursuit of useless knowledge? And why this insane pursuit anyways? So I could complete what my mother couldn't? It's beyond a farce. As bullets split the air next to my cheek, I grip my necklace, my connection with my love. If I die, I want my last thoughts to be about him.

They're readying the explosive charge down below, calling up to me in their native tongue, daring me to try to run again, now taking careful aim, each shot an inch or two from my flesh. I think of jumping, one last glorious plunge through the air.

A last sound escapes my lips, not my previous half-baked imitation of John, but my own deep, guttural howl, a primeval sound, calling, begging for the spirits of the jungle to awaken. A scream of the deepest agony, from the place in my soul borne in the Dark Times, when as a child I stood at my mother's grave in the cold Baltimore rain.

"Aiiiieeeeeeeoooooeeeeeooooee eeeeaiii!"

The jungle echoes my call through the trees.

I feel something. From the tree trunk. A vibration. A thumping.

My call is answered. By a thousand trumpets.

The very ground shakes, rattling my perch. I stand up, inhale as deep as I can, and belt my cry, as loud as I can muster, a scream of pure agony. Shots ring out, but they're not directed at me, they're directed out into the darkness, where trees tremble at the approaching horde.

Elephants burst into the men, tusks swinging, trunks whipping, and legs stomping. Human bodies take flight, slung through the undergrowth.

I sense what you may be thinking. Elephants are supposedly tame. They have been used for millennia for tasks such as plowing and military transport. They are not wild beasts. But do not mistake a wild African elephant for some dairy cow, some manicured horse, or some loyal dog.

They say elephants never forget. That's not precisely true. Elephants never forget a _grudge_. And these elephants lay into the men with everything they have until the ground's a bloody mass of pulp, not a single body distinguishable from mud.

I look on in a mixture of admiration and sheer horror as men's guts and brains lay everywhere. Elephants chase down the outliers, tusks goring men from gut to neck.

The mad monsters don't even spare the donkeys, the innocent carriers of the harvested tusks. They flay the screaming beasts.

When it's over, each elephant picks up a tusk of a fallen comrade and carries it away, possibly to some hallowed burial ground. They march in a solemn column, trunk to tail, and disappear into the night.

#

I crawl down from my tree, my hands gripping my bleeding elbows. There's not a place I can look and not see death. My bare soles step upon cracked bones and still-warm flesh. I hasten out of the killing area, the stench of human innards threatening to yank my own innards onto my extremities. In the dim light of the fading torches that remain, eyes peer out into the night—scavengers waiting to pick the bones clean. By morning, I dare say nothing but bones might remain.

After I've stumbled for half a mile into raw darkness, a voice speaks out in the night.

"Look what you have done," says D'Arnot, voice dripping with rage. He lights a small match and flames a candle, then hands it to Sabu. Flickering light brightens their features. "Many men died out there."

"Not by my hand." I can't meet his gaze. He's eyeing me like I'm some truculent child.

"These were _men_. Not animals. They had families. Wives."

I spit on the ground. "_Men?_ Those were _men?_ They are lower than the animals that crawl in slime. They should have thought of the consequences before poaching elephants on this land."

D'Arnot's hand slaps me in the face, driving me to the ground. I pull out my Colt but he kicks it away, then his heel slams my chin.

I writhe on the ground in pain and rage, impotent to remove the boot that crushes my throat, unable to sound my jungle cry.

D'Arnot kneels down next to me and his hand replaces his boot. All I can see is the tiny glint of the candle in his eye. "You listen to me, witch! This is not a game. I do not know what you have done to John, but I am putting an end to it. I am bringing you back to your father and tossing you on the boat."

"John will kill you." I spit blood from a split lip.

His hand shakes me. "John loves me like a father. When I explain how you murdered the men to steal their ivory, after letting them kill the elephants, he will listen. I know exactly who you are and why you're here. You scientists make me sick, stopping at nothing to gather your so-called specimens. He will know exactly what you are, a thief and a liar, here to use him for your own gain, tempting him with your body. Whore!"

I wrestle away his hand, scramble to run, but the man tackles me, landing upon my back, and snatches my wrists. My shoulders scream with agony as he draws my hands back. I fight and claw and kick, but in seconds, he has bound my wrists.

"John! John!" I scream.

Strong hands haul me to my feet. D'Arnot shoves me ahead. "Silence. Now move. We need to clear far away from here before sunup, in case those men's mates return."

#

I'm a prisoner, my hands tied together. That bastard D'Arnot yanks me with a rope like I'm some camel. At first, I drag my feet, but he strikes me with a switch, leaving ugly marks on my legs. With daylight, I discover all the other cuts and scratches from my ordeal, all black with crusted blood, attracting curious flies. Sabu looks upon me in some inscrutable manner, apparently deferring to D'Arnot.

"I shall simply tell John you fell from a tree," D'Arnot says as if my love couldn't see through such a bald-faced lie.

My anger boils black. I try not to think that John might have knowledge of this man's gray temperament. He could not. John would not entrust me in D'Arnot's care if he knew.

Or would he? I swallow my doubts.

I follow like an obedient dog on a leash, my wounds throbbing, my pride battered.

Sabu walks a few steps ahead of D'Arnot, pushing through the fronds and hacking the brush. I hope he fears John more than D'Arnot, but he's given no indication of providing any assistance.

As we trudge along a game trail, I come upon a realization: I have to stop relying on John, or even the thought that he'll rescue me. It's girlish fancy. Women don't need to be 'saved'—that's fodder for penny periodicals. Of course, I'm most grateful for the times he's rescued me, but he's probably a hundred miles away. In fact, I hope he is, because to see my current plight, he might think me weak or undeserving of his love.

Yet, he's always known when I've been in trouble, like a sixth sense. I wonder if right now, in the midst of the Blackroot territory, he's sensing my peril, running back to me.

It's too much to hope for. Enough of this juvenile hope. But what happens when John arrives, and I'm ensconced upon some ship, hundreds of miles from the coast?

At least we're heading toward my father. I can only imagine what D'Arnot might do when we reach him…perhaps ransom me, the scoundrel. All I need is one minute of freedom and I'm in the trees, and no one can catch me there, not anymore.

No one except my love.

For three days, we travel thus, saying little. I have little sense of direction on the ground, but I do occasionally spot a tell-tale trace that indicates that we are heading toward the coast. The mountain grows distant when I can see it.

The fourth day brings torrential rains, and we're lucky to progress a mile or two through thick mud that crawls up our legs.

On the fifth, we come across something unusual.

We enter a glade, an open area devoid of the towering trees. In the center, surrounded by a riot of jungle grasses and flowers, we spot a row of low tables constructed from plant stalks all bound together. On those tables sits a variety of cups and saucers made from bark and pods. A dark native woman wears a dress woven of leaves and a headdress bursting with flowers.

She spots us and beckons us as if we just strode into the reception area of the Baltimore Hotel. "Welcome, welcome, guests." The woman speaks in a crisp British accent. "Come, sit at the table. Tea shall begin presently."

"Who are you?" demands D'Arnot. "What is this?"

"Why, I'm y' host, Miz Glinda Buttersworth. Please, me fine gentlefolk, won't you join us a spell?"

My eyes go wide when I realize that this is poor Esmeralda, abandoned by me and almost forgotten in my dealings with John and D'Arnot. I hoped she would return to camp when we failed to return, but to find her here, in the midst of the jungle, I fear that jungle spirits have absconded with her senses.

"Join who exactly?" D'Arnot looks around. He yanks me close. "Do you know this woman?"

My former maid must have contracted the jungle fever that Father never ceases to expound upon, but I cannot reveal our relationship, or I might put her in danger. Not when there's a chance she could free me. "Who do you think she is?"

Esmeralda claps her hands. "Tea time! Tea time!"

From the bushes and trees, hairy faces emerge. Great apes slink toward us.

D'Arnot clutches his rifle. "_Mon Dieu!_ What is this? What is happening?"

I stare upon the beasts in mute wonder. The savage animals slink through the glade, eyeing and sniffing us with overt suspicion.

Esmeralda smiles. "Why, it's ah daily tea. Now don't be rude. And please sir, is that any way to treat a lai-dee?" She nods to my bonds.

"She's no lady, just an unruly brat."

One of the apes saunters over, Kerchak. The leader of this tribe. He eyes the men and then me, grunting and growling. I look as forlorn as I can while keeping my bowels and bladder intact.

Kerchak reaches toward me.

"Sir," yells Esmeralda, swatting the table with a branch. "Behave yo'self around our guests." Kerchak nods.

The beast eyes me and then eyes the rope around my wrists. He grunts, and then moves off.

D'Arnot holds me close, his fingers digging into my arm. Two burly apes box us in, serving as guards to prevent flight. He eyes the beasts. "Are you telling me that we are to have tea with great apes? What manner of insanity is this?"

Esmeralda swats the table again. "My good sir. You will not denigrate our valued colleagues. Where are your manners? You have the trappings of an officer but the manners of a common cur." As she speaks, several apes close in behind us, muttering among themselves. "Now sit yourselves as gentleman and ladies. At once."

D'Arnot's mouth closes. He eyes the apes with ill-restrained venom. "My apologies, Miz Buttersworth."

We sit cross-legged around the table, D'Arnot and I on one side and Sabu on the other. I admit that I'm curious as to the nature of the tea service.

About ten apes join us. Their behavior is extraordinary. They sit politely, hands in their laps. The rest surround the table.

Esmeralda sits at one end of the table. "Now, introductions." She goes around the table and presents the apes. She's apparently learned their entire social structure, distinguishing the Misters, Missuses, Masters, and Misses, using surnames for certain families. Each ape grunts or hoots when their name is called, apparently savoring their monikers. I suppress my urge to pre-write thesis papers in my head about ape behavior. After all, I'm still a prisoner and have more pressing concerns.

I study my former maid. A terrible illness has claimed her senses, yet her English accent is uncanny.

"Now I shall pass out tea. Unfortunately, we have no cream or sugar, so I hope you will forgive my trespasses."

The apes holler most egregiously, hands rapping their cups against the table.

"Manners!" says Esmeralda. "Be patient. This is formal afternoon tea, and I shall have decorum."

She rises and retrieves a sack. The apes chorus again, some lifting their cups, others thumbing their lips.

My curiosity is piqued. I eye D'Arnot, but he makes no move to escape from this tableau.

Esmeralda pours from one end of the table to another. The apes grunt with glee, but do not taste the dark purple concoction.

"Has an ape drank from this cup?" asks D'Arnot, eying the brew. "What is this?"

"Tea, from the dark continent. I have brought it here to merry England at great expense."

Esmeralda finishes and sits at her spot, winking at me in a salacious manner.

She raises her glass. The apes follow suit. We three do the same. "My honored guests, welcome to our great green parlor. I hope you enjoy. Cheers!"

That seems to be the key word, as the apes echo it in some fashion. I lift my cup to my lips.

"What are you doing?" asks D'Arnot

"Shut up." I down the whole thing.

In moments, fire creeps along my throat and practically out my nose

"AHHH!"

It's not tea.

It's not close to tea.

It's fermented fruit, basically a highly concentrated wine.

The apes echo my "aah!"

D'Arnot sniffs it and takes a taste. His face wrinkles.

"What is this swill? You call this tea?"

"Please, my dear man. If you would." Esmeralda lifts her nut shell.

"Yes," I say. "Don't be rude to the hostess."

D'Arnot downs it and wipes his mouth. He stares at Esmeralda. "This is what you do? Sit around and get pissed with the apes?"

Esmeralda stands puts her hands on her hips. "How dare you use such language and make accusations against my character? I can have you removed."

She makes a clicking sounds with her mouth and suddenly a group of guard apes hover above D'Arnot. They probably outweigh the Frenchman four to one.

"My apologies, mademoiselle." He removes his hand from where he stashed my revolver.

"Good, then, we shall enjoy more tea. If you would."

The flower-festooned woman distributes another round. A warmth swirls through my stomach. All the aches from my injuries fade into an alcoholic bliss.

Now, I've enjoyed smidgens of wine and beer on occasion, but this 'tea' seems quite powerful. We down another round. Sabu starts giggling and poking the small ape next to him, a youth who flashes her canines in a simian smile, likely able to snap the boy's face off with one bite.

After we finish the round, D'Arnot stands and tugs on my rope. "Begging your pardon, but we must continue our travels. Your 'tea' has been most welcome."

"Sit down," says Esmeralda. No "sir" spoken.

Once again, apes surround us. D'Arnot sits.

I glance at Esmeralda. She gives me the slightest of nods.

The apes start pounding the table as if to demand more.

"Well, it's seems like my tea is most welcome today." Esmeralda retrieves another bag. "Now this one has been steeping ever so long, I suppose it might provide an extra lift to the soul."

We drink yet another round. I notice Esmeralda doesn't fill my cup much, but D'Arnot and Sabu's tea touch the rims. The forest glade spins around me and I begin an uncontrollable giggle.

The animals congregate at the table, all clamoring for more. These beasts have become rotten drunks. Miss Esmeralda is not running tea service, she's running a saloon…for apes! I spot where they have left their coins in the form of a pile of ripe fruits, ready for the next round of fermentation.

My former maid passes out round after round, until the apes are literally climbing the trees, hooting and calling, and unfortunately, urinating everywhere. A few begin to…well, let's just say they are bit more amorous than I care to see. Animals shall be animals.

"Come," says D'Arnot, stumbling to his feet, tugging my rope.

His eyes are full of lust and inebriation, possibly inspired by the love-making of the apes. I have oftimes caught him peering at me, staring at my chest or legs, in a manner similar to Master Robert, and yet he an officer.

"No."

"You come with me, whore!" He yanks, pulling me right off the crude bench.

The apes turn and stare. Their carousing ends.

"I will not." I stand up, wobbling. "Besides, I have not given my singing performance. Does the lady of the house wish to hear me sing?"

"Why indeed, that would be splendid," says British Esmeralda, lifting her cup. Her other hand signals to the apes to stand down.

My knees shiver, my vision tumbles, but I lift my head and utter the howl I perfected in the trees above the poachers, a cry of pure agony and loss, refined from my suffering and confinement of the last few days.

"Aaaaeeeeeooooooo Eaaaaaaaaaaaaoooooooo!"

The apes stop as if gunshot, my howl echoing through the forest. They all regard me as if I've just uttered something profound. They walk to me, pushing D'Arnot away. They touch my clothes, my arms, my lips. Kerchak steps in front of me and examines the ropes on my hands. He tries to pull my hands apart, then looks in my eyes. I glance to D'Arnot.

Before D'Arnot can pull the revolver he stole from me, Kerchak turns on him, knocking him to the ground. Sabu looks stunned, his spear a matchstick against a clan of full-grown apes.

D'Arnot rises, my revolver in his hand, and aims it at their leader.

I push through and face him. "Do you know who these apes are? You shoot Kerchak, and John will follow you to the ends of the earth and kill you. There is nowhere you can hide, nowhere you can run. This is his family. Pull that trigger and you sign your own death warrant."

While D'Arnot considers his options, Esmeralda sneaks up behind him and cracks a large coconut over his head. D'Arnot drops like a sack.

The apes jump and howl, circling around the fallen man, beating the forest floor with fists.

Esmeralda looks at Sabu who's swinging his spear. She holds up the nut. "You want summa this, you hootin' lil jungle rat?" Her refined English accent's suddenly gone.

Sabu wisely drops the spear and holds up his hands. Esmeralda pulls out a knife from her grass skirt and cuts away my bonds. My wrists are red and chafed. I quickly take the rope and tie the wrists of D'Arnot as tight as I can. I retrieve my Navy Colt and the gun belt that he had stolen.

"Get up!" I yell at him. I wave the gun in his face.

He stares at me with unfocused eyes. He tries to rise, but I realize that he's dead drunk.

All the better.

Esmeralda gathers her things and says her farewells to the apes that have housed her, but when she's ready, I drag D'Arnot to his feet.

He stumbles and falls, but I don't care. He's now _my_ prisoner.

#

Esmeralda hiccups and approaches us. "Now you just hold your tide there, little miss apeman chaser. Me and you, we gots we some bidness."

D'Arnot's in no condition to escape, but I hold him just the same. Essie's eyes glimmer with drunken anger.

I hold my hands out. "Oh Essie, the thing's I've been through. You can plainly see I was a prisoner. I'm so sorry we didn't return sooner, but there's a war brewing. John and I—"

"Clamp it, Porter. I been out with these beasties for nigh on two weeks, best I can reckon. You know how filthy apes are? Stickin' fingers everywhere and carousin' like it's Mardi Gras all day? This tea's all that keeps me from gibbering like them moon mutts at night."

I try to meet her gaze but I can't. She's my one true friend and I've treated her like the help. Well, she was the help. But I don't want her to be. "You're right. Please, forgive me. I had no idea it would be so long."

Esmeralda draws close. "Worse? These hairballs can get amorous. More than one was more than happy to take old Essie for a ride."

"You—?" I couldn't even complete the thought.

"Lay with apes? Is your brain turned to juice? Child, I oughta whip your fanny for even thinking that. I'm here with no light, no shit can, not even a bed for a weary body. Bugs crawling everywhere, snakes, and eye-pecking birds."

I feel like gibbering myself. Poor Esmeralda, subjected to the whims of powerful creatures, while I cavort like a schoolgirl with my love. I die to tell her of our impending nuptials, of the great danger John faces, of the treasure and the elephants. Instead, I stiffen up. I will not let her bully me, and I will not endlessly beg for her forgiveness or her friendship. What's done is done.

"Well, it sounds like it was dreadful. Let's head back to camp, shall we? I'm sorry that your experience with the wonders of Africa was less than satisfactory."

Esmeralda's mouth drops open. She pulls back a hand as if to slap me, but then smiles. "I wants me a refund. What kinda hostel is this? Damn place is overrun with apes."


	8. Chapter 7

Chapter Seven

The next morning, I awaken high in my tree, safely lashed to branches. I look down to find D'Arnot gone. I slip to the ground, wary of a trap. I find his rope, evidently chewed through, most likely by him, unless some savage cat tore him asunder. One can hope.

I spot his trail leading away, but it circles back on itself until I realize that he's covered his tracks with false artifacts. I sigh and return to our little camp. D'Arnot is probably wise to my abilities, and he himself is an expert on the jungle. I still have much to learn. He could have gone anywhere, but I fear he's headed toward my love to poison his ear against me as he threatened.

Sabu is still with me, shading his eyes from the glare of the rising sun. I try to question him but he seems as surprised as I am at our loss. I would venture to say he recalls little of the previous day, as his eyes are rimmed with red. I myself feel little ill effect from the 'tea' except an unpleasant gurgling in my lower gut. I find an isolated spot to solve that dilemma and then wash up in a stream. Nasty business, that concoction.

When I return, Esmeralda wipes the sleep from her face, reclining on a mat of leaves. She eyes the severed rope. "Good riddance, I say. That man got nothing on my hairy mates."

"Aw, I miss your English accent."

Esmeralda smiles. "That blimey bugga sure pulled a toddy on us, di'n't 'e?"

I laugh. "Where did you learn to speak like that?" I pull her to her feet and help wipe off the stray foliage from her back.

"Worked a summer at some English manor on the Long Island. 'Came friends with their whelp who learned me. Well, 'til her folks arm-barred her from playing tagalong with the help."

"Blimey buggas!" I look at the woman. "Wait. If you speak proper English, why do you insist on talking in some incomprehensible linguistical tongue?"

"What the—well, lookee at Miz Pre-fessor, structin' Po' Essie-melda on correct speechin. I sorry, Pre-fessor, I speakee good from nows on." She grips her hands like she's begging.

"Okay! Talk however you choose."

"Oh, Thank yous, pre-fessor. Now what say we skeedle to the ditch and rough leg the carpet?"

"Very well." I have no idea what she just said, but I decline to accept the gauntlet of misapprehension. I suppose I have _my_ words, and she has hers. With nothing else to do, we set out toward Father, wearing little more than jungle grasses and leaves. I travel upon the forest canopy, navigating by telltale marks. Esmeralda takes it on herself to teach Sabu a bit more English, while he educates her on some of his native phraseology. I just hope that she's teaching him commonly comprehensible words.

We travel thus for days, me lost in my thoughts about John and what to say to my father. As we near camp, we encounter paths slashed into the forest. A hush has fallen over the jungle. I catch a slight stench of death, a mist of decay in the air. We stumble upon a disturbing number of animals that have been shot and left to rot, including bushbucks and other game animals, more than the local scavengers can consume, although they circle in the air or lay dormant nearby with full bellies. What a waste of good meat and valuable fauna. The jungle has not an endless supply, and it might scare off the animals upon which we need to survive. Each step I take toward my people, my stomach knots a touch more. We pass a small set of burials marked with simple crosses, but no names. I pray that Father is not among them. I shiver. I'm of a mind to simply run back to the Lost City and spend the rest of my days with John, never setting eyes upon the horrors of civilization again, but that is a vain thought.

My heart recovers as I approach camp, eager to see my father again, fearful of how he will react to the news, if I dare tell it to him.

I stop dead in my tracks as we top a ridge.

Out where the palisade had been now spreads a small village, consisting of wooden shacks and what looks like clay structures. I spot forges and kilns, judging from the columns of smoke. A new collection of farm animals sit caged in pens and stalls, chickens and pigs.

Worst of all, far beyond flats of the river, lay three warships, bristling with cannon.

Acre upon acre has been cleared, the trees felled for a mile in all directions, cut and stacked in neat piles.

On a higher hill of the compound, I spot black 20-pounders and piles of cannonballs.

Esmeralda and Sabu look at me.

I shake my head. "I don't understand. This was supposed to be a scientific expedition. These men look like they're preparing for an invasion, or at least a stout defense."

Along the next ridge, a group of about twenty red-coated soldiers march in formation, bayonets over their shoulders. I turn to Sabu. "It might be best if you depart. I'm not sure of the disposition of these soldiers toward natives."

"No. Must meet your father, have business with him."

"They are likely to shoot you on sight."

Sabu crosses his arms. "Me no care. Swore to Tarzan."

We approach the looming palisade carefully, casually. Esmeralda clutches my hand. "Look!" Near the farm animals, the cages we had originally brought are now filled with various animals…including apes.

The ebony woman gasps. "I—I think I knows a couple them beasties. We was missing a few hairballs couple days on. That there's Greenbean, and Lil Webster."

I want to retch. The whole camp in an abomination, a blight upon Africa, despoiling and raping everything within reach. I fear to contemplate the horrors the poor animals have endured. Our zest to study these creatures has now cost them untold suffering.

Over on another far ridge I spot a second group of soldiers, dark men in ragged clothes. Sabu leans to me. "Blackroot mercenaries." Fear colors his voice. I look at the assembled savages, practicing their musketry against straw dummies, or bayonet fighting against wooden figures. An officer shouts instructions and occasionally whips an underperformer with a short lash.

Evil has invaded camp.

An outpost fronts the main gate of the complex, manned by guards. Uniformed soldiers watch us as we drop into a valley and walk up the slope to camp. I don't recognize them. I suspect they must be from the new ships. They form a small line, rifles at the ready, but not in a threatening manner.

"Halt," says one, now aiming his weapon between my eyes. "Who be ye, you scurvy wretches?" He speaks in a thick British accent.

I step forward. "Jane Porter and associates."

"What business have ye here?"

"I am part of this expedition. We've been doing field research."

"I ain't never heard of no Porter. Judging by your attire, you ain't never seen the clean side of civilized life."

Another guard approaches and motions to Sabu. "Look at that one. A savage. Boo!" He flaps his hands like he's shooing birds.

Sabu stands his ground. I position myself between Sabu and the men. "I apologize for our lack of proper dress. The environs are quite detrimental to modern fabrics. Now, my father Archimedes Porter is in this camp, and I demand to be allowed to pass."

"Father, eh? Who lets his whelp go roam the jungle? There be evil creatures out there."

"I fear no _animal_ in this jungle. Now go fetch my father at once."

The guards eye each other. The sergeant speaks to another. "Go on, go 'fetch' someone. Git!"

"Aw." The man slinks off, eying me the way men are apt to do.

The sergeant puts his rifle down, butt-first, leans to me, and speaks conspiratorially. "Fine day for a stroll, don't you say, lass?"

I gaze over the bustling camp. "Who are all these people here? This was supposed to be a simple expedition. Where are you from?"

The guard sniffs. "Well, we spied your quaint little outpost and decided to sit a spell. All nice and cozy-like. You find anything interesting out in that mess?"

I shrug. "Not much. Just a few annoying _Homo sapiens_."

"Whoa. Do they bite?"

"Yes."

He pulls close. "Listen wee one, ain't you should be scared?"

"Of what?"

"You know, snakes, rats. Jungle men. Don't you think you want some strong man to protect you?"

"The 'Jungle men' that I've met have been most hospitable. It's some of the European characters that I've had issues with. And this Colt is all the protection I need, thank you." I slap the gun at my side, all but silent since I arrived on the continent. It surprises me to realize that despite all I've been through, I have yet to use it, although I've had sore need of protection at times. I suppose once settled in I should give it a go and ensure it is in proper working order.

The guard grunts and turns his attention to Esmeralda. She talks to him in her British tongue, acting as if we stand on the bank of the Thames, waiting for our ferry to cross.

A contingent of soldiers tromp emerge through the gate and approach us, led by Captain Mann in safari gear. His face is redder than I remember, and perhaps more pitted.

"Well, well. Look who's returned." Captain Mann eyes me. "We were worried you were bushwhacked, eaten by cannibals."

"I am most certainly alive and well." I don't trust the glint in his eye.

"Of course. There have been many interesting things spoken about you." He now eyes me with some kind of weird merriment.

"Huh?"

"Indeed. Come, let's chat."

"No. I want to see my father."

"That will be a bit trying."

"Why?" My nerves cringe. "Has something happened?"

Mann motions to the distant bay. "He's grown sick of Africa, despondent. He's returned to the ships and prepares to leave."

"Leave? Nonsense. I shall go to him." I turn to depart, but rough hands grab me.

Mann looms over me, a hint of whiskey on his breath. "Not so fast, girl. Like I said, we must talk. Take them all."

They grab the three of us. Sabu wrestles with his captor, spinning and ducking, and then sprints away.

"Get him!"

I scream, "Go Sabu! Run!"

The men open fire, but Sabu springs into the brush. That boy is quick when he chooses to be. I see his head bobbing in the distance as he flees. I pray he's not injured.

"You, you, form a squad. Do not let him escape." Two men grab four others and head out into the brush in a wide formation, but I sense that Sabu can easily outwit any number of lumbering Britons.

Mann shakes me. "Any more of that and I'll have you in irons. Come."

I'm once again a prisoner, now of the British Marines.

#

They take Esmeralda away from me, I don't know where. They shove me in a room in a freshly-constructed clay building, stinking of mud and sweat. I fret and chafe. The window has a crude iron bar across it, nothing a couple good whacks couldn't dislodge.

All around, I hear human activity, a metal-smith pounding, troops marching, and men shouting. The sounds grate my ears after weeks of the calming murmur of the woods.

After a few hours, Captain Mann walks in. He places his pith helmet on a peg on the wall.

"Look at you," he says, eying me like I'm a choice side of beef. "You're certainly no worse for wear."

The bruises D'Arnot had given me have almost faded away. I cover my shoulders with my hands. They've supplied me with a simple shirtwaist and undergarments, more fitting for the ship's crew than a woman, but of course my Colt has been confiscated.

"Here, sit." He motions to two chairs.

I sit upon one, my arms still crossed.

"Good." He sits near me. He's not threatening me but I sense danger.

"Now, I understand you've made certain contacts in the forest."

"Contacts?"

"Yes. There's a man out there. The locals call him Tarzan, but from what I've learned, his real name is John Clayton. The man you claim to have saved you from the tribesmen when we lost Lt. Smith."

"Ah."

"Now. What can you tell me about him?"

I shrug. "Not much. You should know he claims this land as his own."

"I've heard as much. Well, he _is_ an English Lord, and has made a formal claim for these lands."

"Pardon me? A Lord? Like Lord Dingy? What formal claim?"

"Ah, yes. John Clayton is none other than Lord Greystoke, the inheritor of quite an estate. His agent has staked a claim here based on what Mr. Clayton's father once submitted. One hundred thousand acres of pristine jungle, undeveloped and ripe for exploitation."

John owns all this land officially? By whose authority? I had imagined his claim to be one of sovereignty, not inheritance, as if this was John's own country. But if England claims this, I can now see the eagerness to explore.

Captain Mann unfurls a map upon the table. "I happen to have a rough copy of his claim right here. This is our current position."

He points to a spot on the coast. I immediately notice a large swath of land striped. It includes the mountain that hides the Lost City, but there's no mention of the city on the map except the hump of the mountain. To the east of the claim I see "Waziri." To the south of that, written in a different hand, is "Blackroot." The map also includes pictographs of elephants and apes, crocodiles and a few other villages. I recall seeing maps of this area during our expedition planning, but nowhere was John's claim illustrated. Now I suspect it was hidden from us, or perhaps they didn't expect to actually find John.

Mann interrupts my musings. "How about you tell me where you've been all this time. I'd be greatly interested."

"Hmm." I point to the map and drag my finger to the ocean. "Oh, oops. Water, right? Must be this way." Anywhere but where I've been. "I think here, this looks familiar." I point to some prominent rock formation probably 200 miles from here.

"Impressive. How did you cross the canyon?"

"Huh?"

He points to a river. "You'd have to go a few hundred miles out of your way. Now we're looking into putting in a bridge, but there's no way you could have done that."

"Oh well, I guess I don't understand maps." I do, and I understand the implications. Even a small bridge would create a commerce choke point that the British could use for taxation or even seizure of goods. Brilliant planning.

"Interesting, as your reputation is of an excellent surveyor. You said you further encountered Mr. Clayton. Can you tell me about it?"

I'm not about to be tripped. "I never said that."

"Well, you _have_ maintained relations with him, haven't you?"

I chew on the inside of my lip and glance out the window. "Yes."

"And what is the nature of your acquaintance with him?"

That I will not divulge. "He simply told me he that he felt that our expedition was trespassing upon his land, and impressed upon me the grave urgency that we depart these lands at once."

"What other contact have you had with him?"

I decide to stonewall. "He's provided directions and such. Most helpful gentleman, actually. But mostly it has been poor Esmeralda and I, wandering the trackless jungle in search of this camp."

He stares at me. I glance out the window again.

"Come now, Miss Porter. Lies do not become you. You will tell me exactly the nature of your relationship with Mr. Clayton."

I glare at the captain, hoping to hell I'm not blushing. "What relationship could I have with a man who swings from trees? He's an uneducated, uncouth boor who lives with swine and smells as bad. I assure you that I'd have nothing to do with that man. He's a half-naked savage, impolite, and hardly a man worthy of such a claim that you've invested him with."

Captain Mann smiles. He rolls up the map and stows it in its canister. "Miss Porter. Do you consider yourself to be ambitious?"

"Ambitious?"

"Yes. A social climber. A gold digger. A seeker of status."

"Well, not in that sense, but I do aim to achieve a doctorate, to eventually become a tenured professor. Many academics would consider that ambitious."

"What about men. Do you intend to marry well?"

"What concern of yours is that?"

"Please, indulge me."

I don't like this line of questioning. I'd rather have him yell and scream, not insinuate. Does he really hope to trap me this way? Someone with a degree?

"Well, there's always hope. I mean, I'm looking for someone kind and considerate first and foremost. A well-to-do man wouldn't hurt, but the Porters are not suffering."

"But if you were to marry a benefactor, someone who could support your research, you'd jump at that chance, wouldn't you?"

Warning bells begin ringing in my head. Does he know something? Suspect? Am I really such a terrible liar? Or is this about Robert Dingy and his pursuit of my hand?

"I've had such opportunities, but the candidates usually disgust me. Unfortunately, there's a high degree of boorishness associated with men of high station. I'd rather find someone…ambitious…and perhaps together we can build our fortune."

It feels well-said. He doesn't react.

"Now this Mr. Tarzan."

"It's just 'Tarzan'. Or Monsieur Clayton. He prefers the French appellation."

"_Tarzan_. As you are aware, carrying the title 'Lord' implies certain responsibilities to the crown."

"How would _I_ be aware of that?"

"Ah, yes. I forget how uneducated Americans are. In our way of life, I'm saying. Anyways. I shall tell you then. What it means is that if you act against the crown, if you commit acts contrary to the will of the King, then you may be considered a traitor."

"Are you calling this 'Tarzan' a traitor?"

Mann leans close, his gaze penetrating. "What I'm saying is that Mr. Clayton has a responsibility to the crown, to act in a manner becoming a nobleman. England has been searching for a defensible outpost in Africa, and this estate might be the answer we are seeking. And yet all we hear from the man are threats."

"Perhaps the crown should not take interest in other people's land," I suggest. "Does any of this have a point?" I stare at him.

He blinks. "Of course. We shall get to that presently. I am in a bit of a quandary. You see, your Mr. Tarzan has been something of a wrench in our plans. He has refused any and all offers to parlay with us, at one point sending back our messenger naked. Our poor boy was stalked by a lion at every turn, and now lies in a bed, a gibbering idiot. Promising lad, I assure you. But when we made inquiries, we discover that Mr. Clayton has built a bit of a reputation as a brutal thug. He is wanted across a great part of Central Africa for crimes such as murder and thievery. He has led insurgencies against occupying forces in neighboring lands, and most recently, the utter annihilation of a simple hunting party, only a week's march west from here."

I try to swallow my emotional response, but I feel nothing but utter pride for my man. No foreign officer can besmirch his name. Then I realize that the recent murders he mentioned were the elephant poachers, not John's work at all. "It is certainly an interesting yarn, but I fail to see my connection to all this."

The man smiles and snorts. "Let me be frank. We have collected recent rumors about the man; some claim that he has chosen a bride. This woman stands to share in the Greystoke fortune. Not only that, but perhaps she's someone who might, supposing she's from England or some civilized nation, be convinced to bring Mr. Clayton some reason in the matter. Would you know of anyone who he might have proposed to?"

Apparently, news travels as fast in the jungle as elsewhere. Must be those new-fangled telegraph lines, although I do not recall seeing any. Or—and I hesitate to ponder this—someone has betrayed me, somehow.

I need to know what his game is. "So, supposing—not that I know this woman—but supposing I _did_ know her. What exactly is it you want from M. Clayton? What could he possibly give to you?"

Captain Mann's eyes light up. "Africa. This claim could become the center of a new land, full of riches and opportunity. Farms, roads, mines, think about it. England is starving for sugar, for rice, for basic foodstuffs. Imagine what this land could provide. And this Mr. Clayton would of course be properly compensated for his generous grant."

I huff. "What if M. Clayton has no need for riches? What if this land is his riches, and any desecration of it, no matter what the compensation, would leave him a poorer man? How can you bargain with a man who has everything he wants?"

"According to my sources, Mr. Clayton does _not_ have everything he wants."

"Oh yes? Name one thing that _you_ could give him that he wants but does not already have. Go on. One thing."

Captain Mann relaxes in his chair, places his hands behind his head, and smiles.

"I do happen to know that there is one thing he treasures beyond all else, one thing that he will do anything to have." He looks at me in a disconcerting way.

I search my mind. John has gold beyond measure, lying in that tomb under the Lost City. He has land aplenty, countless day's travel in every direction. Perhaps he could use a sturdy boat, but I doubt it.

"What is this one thing he covets so deeply that you believe he'd part with the security of his land for it?"

"Well, my dear…" He looks at me like the tiger who's cornered the gazelle. "Apparently there is a treasure in this land unlike any other. That one thing…is you."

How the—I stare at him, my mouth gaping open. This is beyond even my intellect. How could he know such things?

Captain Mann rises, places his pith helmet on his head, and taps it with two fingers. "Good day, Miss Porter. We shall be talking again."

#

I sit in a locked hut. I spend most of my time staring out the window, praying to spot some sign of John or my father. A melancholy envelopes me.

I have no intention of allowing them to use me as some pawn to capture John. But there's little I can do. The bar across the small window proves to be set better than I expected. The door will not budge. I've had no word from my father, although I beg them to allow him to visit.

I try not to focus on the hate and anger welling up inside me, borne of my desperation. I think about all I've learned since I arrived here, all the plants and animals I've discovered, about the depths of my heart. I must keep my mind occupied.

Soon after I'm imprisoned, they throw in Esmeralda. Her face is bruised, and she holds her gut, but she smiles at me. "Ain't nothing I never faced before," she says, sitting gingerly.

I rush to her side, but she waves me off. "What did they do?"

She gazes at me through bloodshot eyes. "You really want the list?"

I sit next to her and we wait in silence. If Essie betrayed me, I certainly would forgive her. No woman should endure what she must have. I don't know how she could have told them about our engagement, since I didn't speak of my love to her. I felt guilty over leaving her for so long, so I didn't burden her with my news. But Sabu knew. They could have spoken. So it must have been Essie. I want to hold her blameless, but a part of me is simmering.

"Do you think he did those things?" asks Esmeralda.

"What?"

"Your lover-goat Tarzan. You think he acted what they say? Kill folks, cause consternation?"

I sigh. "Probably more than that. This is the jungle, Esmeralda. There is no law here. Kill or be killed. I'm sure that whoever John hurt, he had a good reason for doing it."

Essie lets it pass. We speak little, although I'm desperate for a friend. But I can't let her betrayal go, so I bite my tongue.

A day passes, and then another, full of wretched unknowingness. They feed us a bowl of gruel once a day, hardly enough to curb the biting hunger. I let Essie have the lion's share of it. I pace the cell constantly. The more I'm confined, the more I desire freedom. I spend hours at the window, studying what I can see of the compound.

"Girl, you gonna drive yourself bat blind," says Esmeralda.

I test the bar for the millionth time. Nothing. I pound on the door and scream. Nothing.

"Calm yourself!"

"No! I need to get out of here! Help! Let me out! Let me out!"

After long minutes of pounding and screaming, my voice growing hoarse, the door opens. Men jump me, bind my wrists, gag my mouth. I struggle and fight, but I can do little against muscle-bound marines. Soon I am hog-tied on the floor, staring at people's feet. A new set of boots walks in. A chair is placed in front of me, and the owner of the boots sits down. Captain Mann.

"Remove the gag."

My gag is lifted. I gasp and cough, still struggling against my bonds.

"Please," I mumble, "please let me go. I've done nothing. Please." Yes, my confinement has reduced me to abject begging.

A cruel smile lights his lips. "Well now. Seems like you might finally be ready to talk. I want you to tell me everything you know about the man they call Tarzan."

I swallow. I shake my head. "No."

"Jane. I've had infinite patience with you. I want to know his whereabouts, and I want to know it now. We have a schedule to keep."

"Never!"

Mann sighs and nods to a burly marine.

The man takes a truncheon, places it across my neck, and literally lifts me up with it, all the way off my feet. Esmeralda screams but they beat her about the head until she crumples in the corner, arms protecting her skull.

My lungs convulse, searching for air. The wooden bar throttles me. My legs kick to no avail. Mann waves a finger and I fall to the floor, gasping and keening. I try to crawl away, fear-stink filling my senses, but the bonds are tight.

"Miss Porter, my patience is at an end. We can make this a pleasant experience, or one that's full of suffering."

My mind races. I can never betray John, but my lips might. These bullies could certainly wrest the truth from me. My mind is already half-hinged. Let's face it: I'm a woman, and there are certain threats they can make that would damage me forever, take things from me that I have promised to John. I need to find a solution and fast.

"Okay," I wheeze. "I don't know where on the map he is, but I might be able to lead you to him." Cursed lips. Perhaps my love for John isn't as strong as I thought. Or perhaps I'm just a weak girl, foolishly entering the domain of men when I should have been content with my books and preserved specimens back in Baltimore. I could have used my looks to capture some respectable man. And yet I am here.

"Ahh." Mann nods to a guard who picks me up and throws me against the wall so I can stand. Mann approaches me, searching my eyes for deception. "You've made a wise choice."

"I will not lift a finger to help you until I see my father," I gasp. "Otherwise, I will gladly rot here for the rest of my life." If there's any way Father can help, I must explore that.

"Don't you even think about leading me on some wild goose chase. If I even suspect for a second that you are leading me astray, I shall sever your fingers."

I nod, unable to meet his gaze.

#

After they leave, I do something of which I'm not proud.

"Essie, this is all you fault. Why did you tell them? Why? Look what you've done."

Esmeralda dabs her bloody forehead. "What in the name of Jeff Davis are you frothing about?"

"You told them about John and I. Our engagement was supposed to be secret!"

"I done told them shit! You told me nuts about your ape man."

"Don't lie to me. They tortured you. You must have told them."

Essie pulls herself to her feet and towers over me. She pokes a hard finger at my chest. "You speech one more wrong, and I will slap your withers. I ain't no lipper. You the one who just ankled your friend. Shame on you."

I gasp. I can see in her eyes that she didn't betray me. She couldn't. Yet I betrayed John. I'm the weak one. I collapse against her knees. "What do I do?"

Esmeralda snorts. "Well chile, for one thing, you stop babying the place. Then grow some damn teeth. This be the jungle, not no three ring."

I nod and sniffle.

Essie lays a hand on my shoulder. "You go, you make things right. Use them brains for once. You gots more than plenty."

I hug her legs. "I'm sorry I doubted you. Forgive me?"

Essie shakes her head. "Sure. I forgive you for draggin me to zoo land, leaving me with hair balls, then 'cusing me of shiving you after stinkin' men beat me like a carpet."

I laugh because it's easier than crying. "What would I do without you?"

I'm soon escorted from the prison hut, but I'm now in chains. Esmeralda's set free, but told not to leave camp. Ha. I hope she flees to the tea-drinking apes, a far nicer abode than this hellhole.

The iron of my manacles is thick and heavy. I can barely raise my arms. I want nothing more than to escape myself, to run from this horrid place, and to warn John. They lead me to another clay hut, where I meet Father inside.

When I first set eyes upon him, my knees buckle and I collapse. Father rushes to me, putting a comforting hand on my back, and helps me to a bench. I try to gaze upon him.

The man is gaunt, his face thin, and his hair more wispy than usual. I can do nothing more than collapse in a fetal position along the bench, lacking the strength to hug him. He sits down next to me and pillows my face with his leg.

I don't know what to say, what I can tell him. The guards hover nearby.

Father coughs. "Have they harmed you?"

I don't answer. Physically, some. Emotionally, worse.

Tears come from his eyes. "I'm so sorry, Jane. I take back everything I said, just promise that you'll forgive an old man. I swear I was just trying to protect you. I never meant you to come to harm. Curse my pig-headedness."

I just sit quietly as he strokes my hair, a rage gathering in my gut. This expedition was to be the culmination of his life's work, to collect enough material that he could write papers for the remainder of his days, and have enough left over to provide me with a perfect start to my academic career. I suspected that someday we might face off, bicker over whose discovery was whose, who deserved the credit. I never thought we'd fight over my courting choices, over my independence as a grown woman.

I force myself to sit up and push him away. The chains clink as I wrap my arms around my shoulders. "No. I _don't_ forgive you. You treated me with disrespect. From the moment we arrived, you've done nothing but try to curtail my exploration, to limit me. Why? Do you have some reason?"

Father bows his head. "I'm an old man, and I worry. You were out of control. I had to do something. This is a dangerous place. People die out here."

I glare at him. Old man indeed. "I'm not 'out of control'. I know exactly what I'm doing."

"Do you? Really, Jane?"

My gut coils like a snake. "Yes."

We sit in awkward silence. He seems to want to touch me but I edge away.

I speak. "I want you to start treating me like a colleague. We may discuss taxonomies and teething patterns. But from now on, my personal life is my own."

"Jane, you're my daughter for god's sake. What would your mother think—"

My rage finally erupts. "Enough about her. I never knew her. The only damn memory of her I have left is the funeral. Stop using her memory against me. I don't even know what she was like. In fact, go ahead. Tell me what my mother would tell me right now, the same woman who married her older professor as a young student. The same woman who couldn't deal with things so she downed a bottle of narcotics and killed herself. What advice should I take from a failure of a person?"

For an old man, Father sure packs a wallop. Right to the jaw. "Jane Porter. That will be the last time you ever speak ill of your mother. Do you understand me?"

I rub my mouth, stinging from the slap.

"You're nothing like her," he says, almost mumbling. "She was meek, gentle, loving. She loved people so much. So much."

How can I make him understand? "Father—I want you to listen to me. I'm not Mother. Stop trying to make me into her! She's dead. I can't be her. Is that what this is about? You're not trying to control me. You're trying to change me. Look at me! Maybe I resemble her. Maybe I act like her, but I'm _not her_."

"No," he says, shaking his head. "not, you're not. You're nothing like her. Nothing at all."

Father puts his head on his hands, and starts to sob.

"Don't do this to me," I say. "It's not fair."

"She was the love of my life, and now she's gone," he blubbers. "Why? Why did she do it? Am I that bad, Jane? Am I such a horrible person? Why couldn't she be happy? I thought we were going to be happy. I had waited so long, and she was so perfect, but her smile, her charm, it was all an act. She was so melancholy inside, and maybe I thought I could fix her, but I couldn't. No one could. I swore on her grave I would take care of you, make sure you were never as miserable as she was, but I can't do it. Instead of sad, you're angry. Impulsive. Reckless. I can't do any better with you than I could with her, and now I'm going to lose you too."

I let him cry for a bit. I have no answers for him. My rage subsides. "Dad. I'm not 'angry.' This expedition has provided me with some of the happiest days of my life. But I'm not Mom, I never was, and I never will be. I'm Jane Porter, almost eighteen, and in love. You have got to let me live my life. I have discovered so many wonders I want to share with you. Yes, I'm in a spot of trouble right now, and I suspect it may lead to worse, perhaps to my death. But I am so happy with what I've discovered here that it's worth it. These soldiers will be made to see reason, and then we can go about a proper exploration of the area, just as we intended."

He shakes his head. "No, Jane. This is not just some 'trouble'. You're being a fool, just like your mother. She was 'in love' too, you know. With me. She had no right to be. It made no sense, although she made me happy in ways I cannot begin to describe. But it was terrible. The sadness ate away at her like a cancer, coloring everything. You don't remember, but we fought. She called me horrible things, blamed me for her condition. We can study plants and animals for a hundred lifetimes, but which of us can explain a simple thing like love? It's a lie, a damn lie that will eat you alive."

I've always known my father to be a bit crotchety or obtuse. But bitter? I try to lift my hands but the chains weigh them down. I shake my own head. "I'm sorry, Dad. I'm sorry for everything she put you through. I wish I had known her. But you can't blame yourself. I know you must have fought for her as much as you're fighting for me. But it's not the same thing. Between you and Essie, everyone seems to want to spit on love, but I want to find out for myself. Isn't that my right? If love's such a hard lesson, shouldn't I go out and learn it? Maybe I, too, will grow old and morose. If that's my destiny, so be it."

Father snorts. "Spoken like a true child. Very well then, Jane, go see what's out there. Go experience whatever pain you wish. What does it matter what an old man thinks?"

We sit in silence. He has some points. Heartache lurks about every corner in the jungle of love, a pain great enough to cause one to end their own life. But what does he expect from me? To cower in a corner? He spent almost two decades as a bachelor before allowing his heart to open, and perhaps she was flawed, but there must have been some moments of happiness. Otherwise, how is my presence upon Earth explained?

I wonder how often he's stared into the barrel of death, despondent over his loss. I must be this constant reminder of her, of what he lost. But am I not also a constant reminder of what he gained? I reach out to him the best I can and take his hand.

"Father, I know I face some dire straits at the moment. But I want you to do something for me."

"What is it?"

I draw a deep breath. "I want you to trust me. I want you to trust my judgment. I know it's asking much, but this is what I need from you right now."

"How can I? Look at yourself."

I capture his gaze. "Trust me. This will all work out. I promise."

He sighs and shakes his head. "I thought I did, Jane. I thought I did."


	9. Chapter 8

[DISCLAIMER:

Thank you for reading so far! I hope you've enjoyed it. This had definitely been a labor of my love for Edgar Rice Burroughs and Tarzan.

I want to caution readers that the remainder of the story is fairly violent and graphic, including sexual situations.

There are four more chapters after this one, so hang in there!

Would love to hear your comments, good or bad! (well...good :)

]

**Chapter Eight**

The truth is, I'm not sure how much of my judgment I can trust right now. Of course, I had no way of knowing that the British would turn hostile, or how ill I would be treated. My neck still aches from their assault, the chains chafe, and I haven't eaten a proper meal in days. It was one thing to appear brave before Father, but now, facing the bulk of their army, my heart quails once more.

As I sit in the dirt, watching the soldiers gather for an expedition to hunt, capture, and perhaps kill my love, Robert approaches.

"Jane," he says, eying the soldiers. "I must have words with you."

I look up at him. He extends his hand. I grasp it and he pulls me to my feet, my chains clanking.

"My word, you look dreadful."

I have no response except to stare down at the dirt. He reaches out and rubs something from my face and pulls the loose hair from my face.

"I am worried about you. Rumor has it that you've taken leave of your senses and shared tents with some jungle man."

That's probably the least of what they're saying. I shake my head. "He's just a friend. He's a good man, Robert. He doesn't deserve this."

"Why not talk about what _you_ deserve?" His face hovers close. "Is this the life you envision? Jane, I can provide for you. Give you an elegant life. You only have but to say the word, and you can be mine. I'll take you from all this. All this silliness shall be ended."

"Robert, I truly appreciate this, I do. But I have promised myself to another." I look upon him.

His face grows red. "That savage who stole my rifle?"

I plead with my eyes. "Robert, if you hold any good will for me at all, you must see that my heart has been claimed. I would not suffer thus if it were not so. I need a friend right now. You are not a bad sort, and any woman would be lucky to have you."

His demeanor softens. I should perhaps rely on flattery more often. "Friend? When he is dead, you will come to me. And I will laugh at you. Goodbye, Jane Porter."

He stomps away. I do begin to realize that I have sold my friendship short on many occasions, and now I'm surrounded my nothing but enemies. It's a sad burden that falls upon me. I think of Captain Mann's questions about ambition. Is that what's happened to me? Has my zeal blinded me to basic human kindness? Is my current predicament the result of my mad pursuit of scientific exploration? Or more precisely, have I sacrificed everything for my career—including my love?

In short order, soldiers collect me and lead me out through the main assembly area of camp. Guards retrieve another prisoner and bring him toward me.

I gasp. _D'Arnot._

They chain me to the bastard, my manacles to his, with only about four feet of links separating us. My heart stammers, and blood rushes to my face. _D'Arnot_. He knows every detail about John and me.

Once the guards wander off, I turn to the cretin. "_That's_ how they knew. You told them everything. You vermin!" And here I am, blaming poor Essie. I should have known this skunk was about.

D'Arnot looks down. "I had no conception they harbored such ill will toward John."

"Nonsense. He has a reputation, does he not? I thought John was your friend. First, you treat his fiancé poorly, and then you betray the both of us. How do you suppose this shall end?"

The man bows his head. "You are right. You drove me to madness, and I am ashamed. I have not conducted myself as one of my rank or of my friendship to John. Now I have brought him ruin." I'm shocked to see the beginnings of tears in his eyes. What a scoundrel!

I yank the chain. Hard. I speak right in his pathetic face. Him, a French officer acting like a refractory child. "Get ahold of yourself. You haven't brought him anything, yet. We can still defeat these men."

"Her Majesty's Expeditionary Force? Monsieur Clayton has never fought against the likes of these. You must see him as I do. He is little more than a boy, competing against untrained bushmen. Here we have a brigade of Europe's finest. I have told him endlessly that when the Europeans come, there will be little he can do to stop them."

"And what has he said to that?"

"The fool is of the impression that he can prevail. He has no conception of what these men have been through, of what they are trained to endure. Jungles, deserts, oceans, it all makes little difference."

"Those so-called expert troops could not prevail against America. We were little more than bushmen ourselves."

D'Arnot stays silent.

With a chorus of whistling and shouts, the march begins, some one-hundred souls. Behind us bray pack animals, donkeys, horses, and even oxen. Ahead of us, the soldiers march in loose formation, two abreast, their slung rifles like a small moving forest of their own. We're consigned to the middle, among the officers and hired handlers. Somewhere in the rear come the Blackroot mercenaries, more spear than firearm.

I'm not too concerned about John falling unwitting victim to these men. Their footsteps crackle and crunch. The animals whine and snort. They might as well set off fireworks. A busy Baltimore intersection would be more serene.

We march for hours, halt for an hour, than march again. The marines sing English drinking songs on end although I see no drink save water from canteens. An occasional rifle crack echoes from the front of the line, shortly followed by the appearance of some jungle denizen lying dead on the path, curiosity killing him. The squad splits, one section blazing the path ahead with machetes and saws, clearing wood and brush so when we arrive, it's through a wide boulevard of destruction.

For days, we continue our inexorable progress east, each step heavier than the last. Traveling with John was energizing, exhilarating. Now, with little food, heavy chains, and the burden of my shame, my legs wobble, my heart weakens, and I dare say my will evaporates. We arrive at the spot of the elephant stampede. The shattered bones of the dead men have been picked clean, and they gleam white across the jungle floor. I feel nothing.

Captain Mann approaches us, gazing among the fractured remains of the poachers.

"This is all the work of Tarzan?"

"Yes," says D'Arnot quickly, glancing at me. We still share a chain.

The Frenchman knows full well my involvement, yet refuses to implicate me, his motive inexplicable.

The captain turns to me. "Where did he go from here?"

I shrug. "He is not a man of many words."

The brute snatches my chains and pulls me close. "Shall this site be _your_ grave as well?"

I make a show of looking around, pointing in a direction well away from the Waziri or the Lost City. "That way, I believe. Northeast."

Captain Mann eyes me, then turns to D'Arnot. "Well?"

"She would say anything to protect him, but to me, any direction is as good as another."

Mann turns to me. "Out with it."

I shrug. "Do you want a goose-chase or not? Northeast." I point west, if only to give them pause as to my sanity. I actually have no idea where John is, but hopefully it is far, far from here.

Captain Mann huffs, walks away, and confers with his men. He returns. "We are sending out scouts to find the correct direction."

Once out of the captain's earshot, D'Arnot turns to me. "You cannot protect him. Another week of wandering and they will have your hide."

The thought endless trudging vexes me, but I shall endure it. "You are a coward."

D'Arnot rattles my chain, yanking my hands painfully. "And you are an impudent whelp. If I was your father—"

"I would have run away from you."

The march continues, deeper into the heart of the forest. I walk staring at the ground, ignoring whatever wonders the jungle holds. I care not for treasures anymore, not for my own life even, only for John.

Hours later, the scouts return, dragging a captive. The march is halted.

The scouts drag the struggling native and throw him down next to us. Blood drips from his nose and mouth, and one eye is nearly closed. From his outfit and markings, he might be a Waziri, but I can't be sure. I vow to study the local accessories to more ably distinguish the various tribes.

Two soldiers hold his arms behind his back in a painful vice. Captain Mann walks over. Birds chatter in nearby trees, belying the stink of men on a long march.

"Lieutenant D'Arnot. You will translate." He turns to the prisoner. "We need the whereabouts of the man known as Tarzan."

D'Arnot utters the words and returns the reply. "He says he doesn't know anyone by that name."

Soldiers strike the prisoner's face. The ones holding him cruelly twist his arms. He screeches and pleads in his native tongue.

"Repeat the question," says Mann.

D'Arnot does. "He says he will die first."

The men beat the poor thing who screams and wails. His whole body shakes. My stomach churns, threatening to erupt. The men holding his arms yank so hard that I hear the shoulder separate in a sick pop.

D'Arnot pleads with the man in his tongue, the poor native replies with pitiful whimpers.

"Nothing, he knows nothing, I am sure of it," cries D'Arnot.

Soldiers hold knives to the poor creature's face.

"Stop it! Stop it! You'll kill him," I cry.

Captain Mann walks to me, his face enraged. "_You_ can stop this, Miss Porter. Where is Tarzan?"

I shake my head. "I don't know!" It's the truth.

The soldiers beat the captive, kicking him and thrashing him with thick boughs. He tries to ward off the assault but then falls unconscious, a bloody mass.

I'm stunned, unable to breathe, unable to understand how men can be so cruel. Tears stream down my face. I watch as the sodden lump gasps a couple times, and then stops breathing.

"He's…he's dead. You killed him!" I try to strike out at the Captain, but D'Arnot pulls me back by the chain.

"Do you wish to die as well?" D'Arnot breathes into my ear. "Remain calm."

The soldiers spit upon and kick the corpse, as if his dead soul could reveal its secrets.

Our war party begins our relentless march once again, but now, something has changed. These are soldiers, trained to kill, but that captive was innocent. He died needlessly, just like the animals, just like countless other will if these men succeed in their quest. My breath comes in short gasps, and I stumble.

D'Arnot catches me and pulls me close. "If you care for John, tell them nothing."

Rage envelops me. "How dare you. Your lips caused all this. Now they will stop at nothing to get to John."

He rattles our chain. "That captive told me everything. Now I know _exactly_ where John is. I told the Captain nothing."

I stumble, only D'Arnot's arm stopping my fall. "You could've saved that man. You could've spared him."

"Ignorant dog. Would you trade John's life for that primitive? A white man of breeding for some ill-begotten mongrel?"

I'm silent. I pull as far away from D'Arnot as possible. John treats these "primitives" as brothers.

It's not another hour before they drag in another captive. This time I'm sure he's Waziri, perhaps one from their war council. Blood leaks from a bullet wound in his belly and drips from his mouth. They drag him to us.

Captain Mann points at D'Arnot. "Ask him."

The exchange is much as before. The beatings. The breaking of bones. The surge of vomit in my throat.

"Stop! Stop! I'll tell you what you want to know. I'll tell you everything. Just stop hurting the man. Please." I know what I'm doing. I'm betraying John. But this man is likely John's friend. Would I trade John's life for this creature? No. But John would surely give his own life to save this man's, a proud Waziri, and I shall do no different.

Captain Mann rushes to me. "I swear if you try to deceive me—"

"I'm not. Please. I don't know exactly where Tarzan is, but I know what he mission is."

"Well?"

I look at the man writhing in pain on the ground. My limbs shake. "Spare him and I'll tell you."

Mann nods. The men release the native who's too hurt to move. Two men pick him up and drag him off the trail.

Mann turns to me. "Go ahead."

My stomach rebels, my throat closes in. I want to jump on the nearest bayonet rather than speak the next words.

"The Blackroot. He's going after the Blackroot, to stop their advance into his lands."

Mann turns to D'Arnot. "Did you know of this?"

"I suspected, but the man is prone to mercurial changes. I did not know he would confide to her."

Mann slams a fist across D'Arnot's face. The officer falls down, yanking my chain, and I tumble over him.

"Get them up. Kill that prisoner. Call the Blackroot commander here. He'll know the way."

The men leave us in a heap. We pick each other up. I cry to Mann, "You promised!" I try to run to the prisoner to protect him, but the chains thwart me.

A soldier lifts a rifle and shoots the captive in the head, blood and brains splattering across our trail. I scream.

Soldiers drag us to our feet. Rough hands push us forward, each step leading us closer to my love, closer to John, closer to his end.

#

I think about something very important as we trudge through rolling hills, toward the south and Blackroot land. The weather has grown angry, dropping a cascade of water upon us. I can barely see the far ends of the column from my position.

The thing is—I don't think John can love me after what I've done. I don't think he should. I never should have left his side. I should have taken his ring, kissed him, and let him take me in that gold-filled chamber far under the Lost City and bound us together for life.

I was scared. I was too frightened to grasp my future, because all this has taught me that my love for John is pure, because not once has it faltered amongst all this strife. He is my hope, but now I know I have done nothing to earn his love.

I don't believe John to be a simple man, only seeking a pretty face. I believe him to be someone who values loyalty above all else, and I have taken that loyalty and crushed it like a bug. I'm not worthy to be his friend, let alone his wife.

I don't deserve John. I don't deserve anything more than what I have now, stumbling through mud, shackled like a convict. I pray that I find some excuse to be shot, or fall prey to some kind of poisonous bite. The British have stripped every last bit of dignity from me, betrayed the only two men in the world I care about, and I wish to God I had never stepped one foot upon this cursed continent.

When the halt is called, I literally fall straight to my knees into the muck. I lie face down, the torrential rain splashing mud into my eyes, but I have not the energy to move. D'Arnot tugs on my chain, yanking me like a doll. He tries to drag me but the tromped goo holds me fast.

"What is the matter with her?" says someone.

"She is no soldier; this pace is killing her," cries D'Arnot. "She's just a girl for God's sake."

Maybe part of my brain registers his defense of me, but mostly I just stare at the raindrops battering the puddles on the ground. People talk around me, and I'm poked with what might be a rifle. I cannot respond. The shackles are removed from my wrists, and my arms are thrown above my head. A piece of bread splats in the water before me, but it simply lays there untouched, the small currents of the downpour sliding it away from me. Through the mist, I spot porters constructing rain shelters so they can cook and sleep.

I lay there in mud while rain patters my back and water runs across my fingers. I may never move again. The end has come for me, perhaps not my physical being, but emotionally, I'm finished. I will not take one more step toward John's demise. They can lash me to the back of mule if they wish me to continue, but I'm content to lie here forever. My life is ruined. I don't know if I pray, plead, or simply resign myself to my fate, but this moment of utter despair burns my soul into ashes.

A flash of red and green shimmies into my vision. I note a lizard, possibly the most beautiful creature I've ever seen, with perfect diamond-shaped scales like porcelain. When it halts, it appears to be an exquisite art piece from Europe's finest museums, cast from precious stones. But when it moves, it is with a fluidity that belies its reptilian origins, as if it were some finely crafted machine. With a gasp, I realize it is my Red-spotted Pearl Salamander, the mate of my necklace. It walks straight up to my nose and flicks me with its tongue. This might be the first sighting of a living specimen of the legendary creature in centuries, and I literally cannot raise a hand to inspect it. It stares at me with bottomless black eyes, its red forked tongue tasting the air.

"Help me," I whisper to the creature. I remember John's words, that the salamander only appears when all hope is lost, but I cannot afford to believe in such omens.

It looks upon me with its black, beady eyes, perhaps considering my plea, or perhaps wondering when I'll become a tasty treat to scavenge. I drag my hand down to my chest and close my fingers on the pendant. No. This cannot be coincidence. I blink at the creature. Its head turns to the nearby jungle, and it skitters off.

"Wait!"

It is gone.

I struggle onto my elbows. I crawl through the mud after the lizard, towards the woods that beckon, invite me. I reach the first tree, except it's not a tree, it's the legs of a Blackroot mercenary.

I can just see the salamander. It turns its head to me one last time as if beckoning me, then scoots away. My heart is crushed. How can such a small thing provide me with the faintest glimmer of hope, only to disappear in my greatest hour of need?

As I search the woods for any sign of the creature, I see them. Dark eyes, framed by woolly faces, almost invisible through the mist. They sit still, like sentinels.

_Kerchak._

The apes are silent, but I know Kerchak sees me. I reach for him, yards away in the jungle, but the Blackroot man hauls me back, waving a finger at me.

I collapse once again, but somehow, some way, I feel the jungle reaching out to me, touching me, and I shiver. Lightning flashes overhead, followed quickly by the boom of thunder. The rain redoubles.

This struggle isn't about me, or my love for John.

This is about life itself. The untamed jungle. The ability for the plants and animals of the forest to live their lives without fear of humans destroying their habitats and their lives.

I struggle to my knees, my gaze on the deep jungle. Kerchak is there, eyeing me. I nod as subtly as I can, a motion I hope he understands.

He turns and disappears into the forest, as silent as a spider.

#

For days, we travel deeper into Africa, but now that I have silent companions, my heart is lighter, determined. Every so often, I catch a glimpse of a hairy body swinging through the trees. I hear a grunt or a chatter. I know that Kerchak's tribe is with us, shadowing us, never letting us see them, for the Brits and the Blackroot shoot at anything that moves. D'Arnot has managed to mercifully double my rations, and the pace is more leisurely.

I'm no longer chained to D'Arnot, thank the heavens, but Blackroot watch my every move. I know I could probably elude them, but I've seen a few of them take down a boar with nothing more than a blow dart. The darts are tipped with something that makes the boar sleepy, and they literally walk up to the twitching beast and slash its throat.

I'd hate to be hit with one of those barbs. I think that even if I fled into the trees, I wouldn't be safe from their wicked projectiles, and I'd surely tumble to my death.

One day toward evening, a commotion erupts from the front of the line. We've been following a fairly open streambed. Blackroot come running from the rear, yelling in their tongue and brandishing their weapons. Shots crackle in the distance. The Brits form a skirmish line right in front of me, two rows deep. D'Arnot waves for me to get down low.

There's shouting and yelling, and then the British marines rush forward. I'm dragged by a Blackroot guard down into a hollow where we can eye the proceedings.

We're in an open area dominated by grasses. The Blackroot form a line around the perimeter, their eyes wide.

I see what all the fuss is about: the field is ridden with corpses. Once the all-clear is whistled, I'm free to move about. The stench from the bodies curdles my gut. I suspect the dead men to be Blackroot, based on the bones piercings in their ears and chest that are similar to our troops. Arrows and spears bristle from them, although a few seem to be slashed. A few carry weeping bullet wounds. Carrion birds circle above, screaming at us to leave them to their feast. Burials commence immediately.

The Blackroot are distraught, one of them arguing with Captain Mann, waving his arms and stomping his feet, pointing at the corpses and the nearby line of trees.

When he finishes, apparently losing his argument, he stomps off in my direction. He eyes me, steps to me, and swings his hand across my face, tossing me to the ground. Pain sweeps through me, coupled with a rage I barely contain. He screams above me in his tongue. I understand nothing save one word: Tarzan.

I wipe the blood from my throbbing lip, my heart suddenly savoring their consternation. If Tarzan is behind this, good for him. I see fear in the Blackroot's eyes. The man stomps off, yelling at his men, striking a few of them as well. D'Arnot extends a hand and helps me to my feet.

"Do you think this is John's work?" I ask him.

He nods. "Those feathers on that spear could be Waziri. If any of that tribe died, they must have been removed, for I do not see any I know."

Soldiers continue to bury the bodies and scout the surrounding area. I see no sign of my ape friends. I hope the terrible smell drove them off, because the Blackroot have redoubled their efforts to shoot at shadows, wasting good ammunition against ghosts.

Night falls. After a cold meal of soggy bread and half-moldy cheese, I'm set in a tent by myself, a guard lying across the door to prevent any escape. I manage to sleep despite the continual crack of a rifle or excited cry of a man.

Sometime deep in the night, a piercing scream destroys my restless slumber, followed by shouts, invoking the reckless shooting of guns. The officers holler for a cease-fire. I stick my head out of my tent, my guard nowhere in sight. I contemplate a hurried run. Torches are lit and passed around, and the marines quickly determine the source of the scream.

The man who had struck me now hangs by his neck from a tree near the clearing, still struggling, clutching his throat in a desperate attempt to dislodge the rope.

Soldiers quickly cut him down. He lays on the ground, gagging, swinging wildly at anyone who tries to help him. I'm able to draw within earshot. The torches barely illuminate the dark night, casting more shadows than not. The woods are a dark presence.

"What is it? What happened?" demands Captain Mann.

The gasping man manages to let out one word. "Tarzan."

I sink to my knees and clutch the pendant against my chest.

John is here. He saw that man strike me. He sees me right now!

So does Captain Mann. He strides over to me and grabs my arm.

"John Clayton!" he shouts into the night. "If you can hear me, listen well. We have Jane Porter. You will surrender to us at once. If you do, she will not be harmed. If you do not, then I cannot guarantee her safety. Do you hear me? Do you understand?"

No response. The jungle is silent save for the crickets and frogs.

I hear a curious buzzing sound and the Blackroot nearest to me screams, an arrow piercing his chest. He stumbles and falls on his face, the arrow shaft cracking beneath him.

The camp explodes into a cacophony of gunfire and men running in all directions. I'm pulled behind a rock outcropping, next to the captain.

"This man is mad," says Mann to me. "Does his wish you to die?"

"No, but I suspect that he may start picking off your men, one by one. I suggest you do not threaten me again, because the next arrow will be directed at you."

"Hell's bells. He is an animal."

"If you were to just release me, I'm sure I could convince him to leave you alone. Provided the Blackroot are sent back to where ever they come from."

He grips my arm painfully. "I'm not going to be dictated to by an animal and a girl barely past puberty."

"Then prepare to be digging a lot of graves, because he will not give up, and he will not surrender. This is his world. He will destroy you."

Mann glares at me. He stands up, risking an arrow, but I suspect John's safely ensconced out of range. "Fire it. Burn this damn forest down. But get that man!"

All around, the Blackroot take the torches and set fires among the trees. With all the rain lately, it's a chore, but soon the surrounding trees are covered in flames that turn the night red.

I turn to Mann. "What will you do when you run out of forest to burn?"

"Then the odds will be evened. Your Tarzan is outnumbered and outmatched. I suspect he will meet his end sooner rather than later."

#

The morning is spent clearing the surrounding forest and constructing hasty fences. The black skeletons of trees surround us, still smoldering. I now have a dozen guards, less to prevent my escape than to stop any attempt at rescue. I am the only leverage they have with my man, and John's actions of the previous night have only stood to further their estimation of my value to him.

If he only knew of my betrayal, I'm sure John would go on his way. Although my heart aches for his touch, I know I no longer deserve it. Yet, I must find some way to protect him. I owe him that.

D'Arnot and I are hauled into the main tent. Captain Mann is in quite a tizzy. He stomps back and forth.

"Tarzan is a madman," he says. "Does he not know what jeopardy you are in? Does he not care for you? Must I take you out on the field and flay you?"

I cross my arms. "Do what you must. Men like John Clayton do not bow to bullies. There is something called 'The Law of the Jungle.' He's told me that means you kill or be killed. There is no other way. He will do nothing but murder your men until you surrender. He will not stop fighting you until you are dead. It is the only law he knows."

Mann slams the crude table. "That is madness. That is not how civilized men behave."

"John eschews civilization because it is inherently corrupt. It allows the weak to flourish by exploiting the strong. Out here there is no money, no lawyers, and man must stand on his own merits."

"A man who ignores thousands of years of progress is doomed. We have built our institutions for a reason: to protect the weak _from_ the strong. Do you think your father is not the beneficiary of such a system? Do you think he would be a professor if he had to scrounge for his food every day? And here you are, disparaging the very system that has placed food on your table. Where out in this jungle are your educational institutions? Why do _you_ belong out there, Miss Porter? Do you plan to spend the rest of your life swinging from trees like a monkey? Happily oblivious to society?"

When he puts it like that, I quail a bit. I have wondered whether my love for John could be enough, whether I would be happy living in untamed jungle the rest of my life, away from the institutions that have guided my life from my birth.

But when I think about how even now as we speak, John is out there fighting for me, I push such thoughts from my mind.

"Yes," I say.

Mann sighs. "Come then. We shall end this." He opens a box and retrieves a wicked-looking knife and a whip. I can only imagine what he plans, but I will face it. He may torture me, and I may scream and cry things I don't mean, but I don't care.

We're led out to the middle of the cleared area, and placed behind a hastily constructed wooden barrier. The sun lifts above the tree-line, and a breeze stirs up ashes. There's no way John could strike us from here.

Mann calls out to the woods. "Tarzan! John Clayton! I have warned you about what will happen if you resist. Now show yourself. Don't make me hurt Miss Porter."

John may not be able to attack us, but a man near the perimeter screams and falls, arrow-shot.

"Dammit," yells Mann while the clearing resounds with gunfire. "Pull those damn men back. And stop all that fire."

The gunfire halts and the echoes cease. Captain Mann grabs me and hauls me out of the enclosure, holding me in front of him like a shield, the coward.

"I warned you! Now you will face the consequences." He pulls the knife out of his waist and holds it high.

The knife flies away, and a single gunshot sounds. Well, that answers the question of whether John only has arrows. The whole area rattles with gunfire once again, little puffs of smoke creeping into the air from their muzzles. Next to me on the ground, Mann screams and holds his hand, casting vile imprecations toward my love.

And then I see him, a flash in the woods, running at impossible speeds, ducking behind trees, shooting an arrow at a Blackroot, and then sprinting to another shelter. He jumps out, slashes a man's throat, steals his rifle, shoots a man with it, and sinks the bayonet into the chest of another, three men dead all in a matter of moments. Then he disappears in a terrific volley of rifle fire.

My heart soars and quails at John's savagery all at the same time.

Mann recovers his senses, grabs his sidearm, and fires in John's direction. I ram my shoulder into him and he falls on the ground. Mann scrambles back to his feet and grabs me around the throat with his arm, seizing my breath.

"If you kill me, he will slaughter every single one of you," I manage to squeak out before he closes my windpipe.

Mann holds out his pistol, shooting, but I struggle in his grasp, fouling his aim.

Along the perimeter, another man drops, and then another, shot or slashed or driven through. The Blackroot charge _en masse_ in one direction, only to be attacked from the rear. I have no explanation save for the madness in John's soul.

"Hey," cries Mann. "Hey!" He is not the only one to notice how the Blackroot draw further and further from us, heading downstream, followed closely by the Marines, leaving us practically alone in the glade. Shooting echoes through the valley, coupled with the screams of dying men.

In an inexplicable blink, John stands inches before us, dripping with a mixture of blood from those he's killed and himself, his hair plastered to his face and neck. His chest heaves and his eyes glare. He's so close that the remaining troops dare not shoot in fear of hitting their commander. My heart almost stops.

John holds a dripping knife in one hand. "Jane." He holds out his other hand toward me. The balance of the troops chase ghosts in the valley, which leads me to believe John has help. D'Arnot keeps his distance.

"Don't come any closer," says Mann, regaining his composer and his pistol. "I will kill her."

John keeps his hand extended. "Jane. _Mon ami._ Come." His eyes are hypnotic, willing me forward. As if I'm in a daze, I push Mann's arm away and step toward John. All the last few week's insecurity and doubt fade away. I reach out to him, and his fingers close on mine, his touch burning my soul. "Are you well?" he asks.

I nod.

I hear a whoosh and John shudders. His eyes go blank. He sinks to his knees, a poisoned blow dart in his neck, the kind meant for wild boar. He whispers, "Jane" and collapse face-first into the mud.

"John! John!" He's so still. His eyes are open, staring. Only the barest rise and fall of his mighty chest indicate that life remains.

A great cheer resounds across the clearing. One of the Blackroot runs up with a bayonet raised high, about to plunge it into John's back. I jump upon him, ready to take the implement myself.

Mann intercepts the thrust. "No! This is my prisoner. He will not be harmed."

I cover John and yank the terrible dart from his neck. A small sound escapes his throat, just enough to let me know he's alive.

The Brits and Blackroot converge around us, shoving and pushing, while I cradle John's face. I try to turn him over, but I am weak, and he is huge. I lean to his ear.

"John, _mon ami_, if you can hear me, I want you to know that I love you, and I'll do whatever I can to protect you. I'm so sorry. This is all my fault."

Rough hands yank me away from John, and quickly bind his arms and lash his legs together. I scream, "don't hurt him" but they treat him with contempt, throwing in the occasional punch. I believe he can feel all of it, but the venom on the dart prevents him from moving, keeping him paralyzed, keeping the strongest man in the world no abler than a newborn baby.

Tears stream from my eyes and my throat constricts like a snake. John's trussed up like a ham, while men surround him, cheering and jeering, tossing things at him.

I'm kept away, but I can see him moving again, struggling as the venom wears off. They come up to him and strike his face, yank his hair, spit upon him. Deep growls emanate from his throat, belying a rage that could tear them apart if loosened. A hear a note of desperation in the snarls.

The humiliation is more than I can take. "Stop it! Stop it!"

I force my way to John's side and push his molesters away. "How dare you strike him? You should worship at his feet. He is ten times the man of any of you. He is not the savage, you are. You are the barbarians."

The men swarm me. Hands probe me, ripping my clothes away. They are set to shame me, right in front of my love. I struggle against the animals but it's useless. The men push me into the dirt, clawing at me, fighting each other for the honor of being the first to foul me. I struggle and scream.

Some of the Brits, maybe even D'Arnot and Captain Mann himself, try to intervene, but the Blackroot are mad with lust and anger. They seek to avenge their fellows' deaths with a pound of my flesh while John witnesses it all.

A volley of gunshots ring out. Two nearby Blackroot fall with blood spurting from their chests.

"We're under attack! Defensive positions."

The men scramble off me, fearing their lives more than satisfying their lusts. I crawl to John, naked, shaking with rage and shame, but intact.

"Go," John says with the barest of breath. "Run!"

"No. I will not leave you." I can't abandon him, not like this.

His gaze penetrates mine through a face puffing with bruises. "Jane. Run!"

I run.


	10. Chapter 9

**Chapter Nine**

I run. Naked. Across the bloody field while bullets and arrows whistle past my ears, nothing to cover my upper body, my safari pants torn away. I sprint past the charred remains of the forest's edge, past men dead and bleeding, through a line of dark savages attacking the camp.

Once I reach the unburnt forest proper, I snatch a vine and swing up into the branches, heedless of cuts and scrapes, hitting the upper reaches and careening through the forest canopy, as far away from the killing field as I can, leaving John, leaving everything behind.

Two weeks of forced march have done their worst. After a few minutes of total effort, my legs collapse and I tumble from the branches, smashing a dozen boughs on my way down. The forest floor slams me. My world becomes pain, my eyes cannot focus.

As the world spins, fuzzy faces enter my vision. I feel myself lifted, carried, back up into the trees. The world goes black.

#

I awaken sometime later, in darkness. I'm lying high up on a bed of leaves, one of the nests the apes are fond of making. The bed reeks of their scent, an almost overpowering animal stench. But for some reason, I'm comforted by it.

Every bone in my body complains, resisting any attempt at movement. I locate various fruits and edible vegetation around me. I gobble the sweet fruit, their juices running down my chin and neck. I'm completely naked to the world, but so are the apes, so is everything in the jungle. Believe it or not, I'm somehow comforted by it. I feel at one with the creatures that surround me. I've shed the vestiges of civilization, or maybe civilization has wrenched its last vestiges from me.

I try to think about John's plight, but the murmur of the forest coupled with the rush of sugars from the fruit lull me back into slumber.

#

I open my eyes to a new day, warm, the sun shining from a serene blue sky. Birds are chirping, insects chittering, apes muttering. I stretch my limbs, somewhat looser than before. A dark face appears above me, staring down. A human face. It says, "Good morning. Or suppertime."

My eyes go wide. "Essie? Esmeralda!"

I jump up into her arms and hug her for all she's worth, almost knocking us from the tree. I can't imagine how she came to be here, how she found me. I've so missed a friendly face.

I immediately burst into tears. "They've taken John, they've taken him."

"I knows, child, I knows. I seed the whole opera."

"You—you followed us?"

"Ain't so hard what with all the slashing and trompin'. Ran into my boys here, then some gang what call themselves Waziri. Even garnered your ole man, Mr. Tarzan, hisself."

"You—met John?"

Essie grins. "Hell yeah. That boy all but tore up the place like a damn chimp when I told him what they wrecked you. That boy got passion in loaves. By the time we follered him, he got hisself trussed up, and you be all legging nekkid like some spitler, while dead boys lay like a fish kill."

I sigh, and hug Esmeralda again. "Thank you, thank you so much."

She eyes my nudity. "Now what say we wrassle you some duds? Got me the workins of some strings here, all we needs is some flappers." She holds up some braided vines.

I look into her big brown eyes. I can hardly fathom Esmeralda doing all this for me, after all my accusations and mistrust. "Can you—can you talk British again?"

Esmeralda raises an eyebrow, and then puts on her best Cockney accent. "Wot say you and I prepare a spot o' tea for our 4 o'clock?"

I laugh. "As long as it's your _special_ tea. Okay, let's construct a decent dress."

After a quick exploration, I'm now outfitted with a skirt made from banana leaves and a halter of grasses. From my studies, I understand this to be a fashion among the Pacific Islands, one of my hundreds of destinations to study someday.

Esmeralda wants to fashion a full headdress for me, something my American Indian ancestor would be proud of, but I only allow a simple garland across my brow. Most of all, I eat as many bananas, fruits, and tubers as I can swallow to atone for my weeks of privation. My stomach gurgles pleasantly, and I lay down for a nap.

When I wake, we spend the early afternoon playing with some of the young apes, curious little fellows who try to imitate our voices, but they just can't find the muscles to produce our consonants and vowels. Instead, I learn that they use subtle gestures to communicate. A semi-circle could be 'banana'. Pointing up in a circle means 'day.'

There may be hundreds, thousands of these gestures. I try to imagine John as a little boy among these animals. The young ones play almost as humans do, with their own variations on 'tag' and 'hide and go seek.'

To make one little guy giddy with laughter I cover my face for a few seconds, and then go, 'boo!' Unfortunately, he repeats the trick to all his fellows until they scream at him. He runs back to me and jumps into my arms. Even though they're young, they still weigh considerably more than human children, but I bear the weight.

Sometime around mid-afternoon the apes begin squawking and growling and escape into the trees. Fierce men enter the glade of the apes, with spears and piercings and war paint. I hid behind the bole of a tree until I recognize one of them. "Sabu!"

I run to the boy. He wanly smiles back, but something in his demeanor has changed. His gaze has hardened. I wonder if he's witnessed the same horrors we have, seen his countrymen slain. We embrace, but stiffly. A giant of man approaches, their leader Zule.

He claps a mammoth hand on my shoulder and speaks in rough English. "Our hearts are glad to see you well, but quiver at the thought that Tarzan is now their prisoner."

I lay my hand on his and look far up into his eyes. "Mine as well. He fought as a demon, killing many, but a poison dart took him down in the end. If you had not arrived as you did, they would have torn me in their rage."

Zule nods. "The Blackroot are men without souls. Come, we return to our village now, it is not far."

"What about John? We cannot very well leave him to the mercy of the English."

Zule regards me. "A man who flies hastily into battle flies hastily into death. Come."

I suppose he has a point, and even with my gorging, I'm still near collapse. We wave goodbye to the apes. Kerchak sits on a high branch, beats his chest, and roars.

"We _will_ free Tarzan," I call up to the beast, making simian gestures and grunts as best I can. But in my heart, I wonder if we can do anything.

#

It's several days of travel, but I'm mercifully transported on a litter. My pride forces me to walk at times, but when I stumble, they insist on carrying me. During the march, many of the younger tribesmen attempt halting conversation. I welcome the opportunity to learn what I can of their tongue and culture. Each day I grow stronger from a steady diet of nuts, dried bushbuck, and juice-laden fruit. The last day I discard the litter and rely upon my own locomotion, my strength returning.

The Waziri capital, such as it is, is nestled in a small valley huddled around a clear stream. The huts are laid out in an orderly fashion, surrounding wide, clean streets. One end of town hosts a small bazaar where various tribes and clans gather to barter goods.

As we walk through town, I mention to Esmeralda that I notice everyone acting as couples, men and women together. But the women were not subservient; they were leading the men in many cases. It reminds me of Saturday markets back in Baltimore, where ladies with bumbershoots commanded their men to procure their purchases.

We're objects of curiosity to the children who congregate around us. Our hand-made clothes seem out-of-place in this land of woven garments, but of course, we have no goods to barter for any of the dresses we see, completely reliant on Zule's generosity.

The center of the city hosts a selection of large wooden buildings, most likely the administrative portion of town. Old men and women regard us from stoops and under hangings, avoiding the relentless noon sun.

"You shall be my guests," says Zule, leading us to a cluster of large, stately huts. He leads us inside the complex. Brightly attired women jump to greet him, followed by the children including Zana, the girl I befriended in the Lost City, and a pack of long, lean dogs who bay and jump excitedly.

I can tell he has not been home for weeks judging from the amount of kisses. His wife is this little thing compared to him, and even his young children tower over her. But she greets me warmly after pulling away the curious canines who sniff my every bit. My association with Sabu had taught me a few words, so I reply in a halting greeting that brings nods and smiles.

Zana leads us to our room. There is naught in there but straw mats with a few woven sheets, but it shall suffice. She procures some appropriate clothing for us, a long woven shift over which goes a beaded poncho-like garment. They smell faintly of wool and lacquer.

We watch from afar as relatives call on Zule, welcoming him home. After years of only myself and Father, I'm touched by the generous spirit of this family. Fatigued, I retire to our room, lay on my mat, and rest.

Zana shakes me awake after a decent respite. "Come," she says to me. "Mams wants to speak with you."

"Mams?" I drag myself up and follow Zana to the rear of the complex of huts, past a cooking area where aromatic smoke flows from slow-roasting boar and bushbuck haunch. My stomach rumbles, but that is not our destination. We pass a washing area. Soap has not touched my skin for endless days. We pass a library or study room with neatly cubbied scrolls and parchment, possible family records or their version of bills. I'm pleased to see some level of literacy among them. Perhaps their savage appearance belies a more thoughtful culture.

In a hut isolated from the rest, surrounded by creepers and bushy fronds, Zana leads me into a small room filled with shelves and stinking of incense. The shelves sag with a myriad of bottles and dried animal parts. I have heard of witch-doctors, but have yet to meet one, and I wonder what is practiced here. A small figure sits cross-legged on a mat. She's the oldest person I've seen in Africa, perhaps the oldest person I've ever met, her skin sliding from her bones, with deep toothless jowls and sunken eyes, thin white hair, and a bosom that nearly touches her knees.

It's like someone took a wax figure of an old person and melted it.

She perks up when I enter, her rheumy eyes examining me from head to toe, her lips making a smacking sound. Zana sits next to her, and beckons me to recline upon a nearby pillow. Once settled, Zana translates the mutters.

"She wants to know if you are John's girl."

I nod. "Yes." I pull off my necklace which somehow has survived and hand it to Mams. "This is his promise to me, that we will marry."

Mams nods, holds the necklace to the light, and hands it back with skeletal fingers.

"She asks whether you love him."

"Of course. With all my heart."

Mams hears this and spits on the ground, shaking her head.

"What is it? What's wrong?" I ask Zana.

Mams mumbles to Zana.

"She says love is false, a demon spirit. Love is not how to build a life."

I sputter. "What?" This witch-doctor better not try to pull something on a college-educated American.

"She says that she knows what makes true love, and she shall tell you some things. Remain seated while I get some tea."

Mams points after the girl, makes a muttering comment to me, and then laughs, her skin slithering along her bones.

After a rather uncomfortable wait where I hold a smile while trying not to throttle the woman for disparaging love, Zana returns.

Once our tea is served, a bitter, tongue-curling concoction, Mams continues.

"Did you know that we do not have divorce in our town? Go on, ask anyone. She will wait."

I look at Zana who shrugs.

"Why is that?"

"Many generations ago, our town faced a crisis. Couples married for love, and spent most of their lives angry and bitter over their decision."

"That's sad," I say.

"Yes. Sad indeed. So we decided to try match-making, but that solved nothing, since the matches were based on similarities between people."

"Ah, yes, compatibility. I have heard many theories expounding that by studying human traits, we can improve happiness by—"

Zana waves at me to stop.

"She won't understand all that."

"Ah. Ask her to go on."

Mams mumbles. "She says that there were certain matches that worked. It turned out that a few people had insulted the matchmaker by delivering the wrong price or other mistakes. The matchmaker decided to create the worst possible match for her clients. Unions that were guaranteed to fail, to not even last the wedding night, where the couple dreaded the mere concept of a relationship with each other. Those became the strongest marriages of all. It took a generation to fully grasp this concept, but once it was understood, all matchmakers took to it at once, coupling each person with a match they could not contemplate."

I try to digest that. "So every marriage in this village is not based on love, but on _hate_?"

Mams responds with an outburst that sends spittle flying from her lip. I try not to flinch.

"Not _hate_. She called you something mean. _Love_. The purest form, the strongest."

I shake my head. "How is this possible?"

Mams sighs.

"Because they are two pieces of a whole. They fill in what the other is missing. She pairs a strong man with a weak woman. He can help support her, and she can remind him to not use his strength against the weak. A talker and a quiet one. A tall man and a short woman, like Mama and Dada."

"Why doesn't the strong one just dominate the weaker one?"

"It may take time, but the weak one will find the strength. A strong man sometimes is hiding a soft interior, while a soft shell can hide a hard nut."

"And you say this works? Don't your couples simply wind up arguing about everything?"

Mams smiles.

"Of course. She says she and her husband and argued until his dying day. But they never _disagreed_."

"Huh?" I admit, her logic eludes me. A lifetime of argument? How dreadful. And aren't all arguments disagreements?

Mams waves me closer and mutters to me, a sparkle in her eye.

"When two opposites marry, with the full knowledge of their differences, they expect no less to have different opinions. But to _disagree_, you must say the other is wrong. To succeed, you must see that you are both right."

I glance at Zana. "Is she not well?"

"Take you and John."

I shiver at the name. "What are you saying?"

"John came to her and asked about you. He wanted to know how poor a match you would be."

My mouth gapes. "Wait—John thinks I'm a poor match?" This cannot be happening. The African air seems to leave the hut, leaving me breathless. "Is this some cruel joke you are playing?"

Mams waves me down. "She says listen. She called you a name again I can't really translate. She says that you are the opposite of John. You are highly educated. He has almost none. You are cultured, a product of society. He knows no society. He is a killer. You value life."

My throat goes dry. She's right. We're nothing alike.

My hand travels to my necklace. The thought of such wide differences leaves me cold.

"Jane," Mams says distinctly, catches my chin with her fingers, and mutters.

Zana says, "you misunderstand. You will fight and scratch and argue until you drive each other mad as cats. You may spend many nights alone."

I want to collapse on the floor. Our love is doomed. I feel her withered hand on my back.

"No, no," says Zana. "She says you are perfect. Your love will be strong. Your passion will be unparalleled. She says she knew this from the first, when Tarzan visited with this tale of a horrible girl who sought to capture animals and destroy the forest. He was so sure that he knew you. He wanted to capture you, hold you hostage and force the English to leave. She has never seen a man hate a woman so much. He cursed you night and day, so she knew."

I feel faint. John hates me? It is too much to bear. Mams strokes me and Zana continues.

"But she told him that perhaps you were his perfect opposite. From him, you learned a love of the jungle. From you, he learned his passion, of fighting for another, a weaker one, instead of fighting just for himself. The love you feel for him is not from attraction. It goes much deeper. You have no idea how much he's struggled not to…you know. I don't know the English for doing love. She says before you, he was no gentleman, and simply took what he wanted."

I swallow, and my heart beats fast. He could certainly take me if he wanted. "I have felt his struggle. But he has been noble, even in the moments of great passion." I look in Mams' eyes. "But how can we be opposites? I know I haven't known him long, but in some way, I feel we're the same. We're both people of action, of love."

Mams pats me.

"She says that by opposite, she doesn't mean hate. She means that someday, Tarzan will be weak, and need your strength. Someday you will be confused, and need his intelligence."

I gasp. "He's weak now. He needs my strength right now. My heart bleeds knowing that right now he might be being beaten or worse. It's not that he needs _my_ strength—he needs _his_ strength…in me."

Mams nods.

"She says you must listen to your heart and your head. You must unite them to find your way. She must rest now."

A realization sweeps over me. Mams has not asked me here to warn me, she's brought me here to _bless_ me, to bless our union, to ensure I enter this marriage knowing its pitfalls full well. I break into a smile.

"Tell her that I want to thank her for telling Tarzan to pursue me. Tell her that he is the love of my life and I will never forget what she's told me."

The wrinkled old woman smiles a toothless grin but motions to the door, shooing me.

#

We assemble in a long open-air hut in the center of Zule family's dwellings, built from sturdy logs and reams of branches. The other huts surround us, all decorated with painted totems. I visit with the spindly dogs who sniff me relentlessly and lick my neck. I am determined to make use of the washing facilities at first opportunity. Children with wide eyes bring me small gifts, like a grass necklace or a small, carved totem. I accept them graciously.

Half of Zule's extended family lives here. It's different than in America. For the Waziri, marriage means that husbands live with their spouse's family, so Zule dwells with his wife and her sisters and their husbands. Amazing.

I think for a moment about John coming to live with me in America and laugh. "He shall not live with Father, but then again, I would not live with his apes."

Esmeralda enjoys their hospitality as well, as the Waziri are expert vintners, my estimation of their culture still rising. She's making eyes at Sabu's older brother who's unattached, although I'm not sure about the bone through his nose. Esmeralda's fine with it, therefore so am I.

Zana introduces me to everyone, but their names are so foreign that I can't keep them straight and probably mispronounce the bulk of them. Certain young boys try to imitate my voice, maybe even mock my accent, but Zana walks over and slaps their heads. I stop Zana and ask her to forgive them and bring them to me. They return contrite. I go, "blah blah blah blah."

They catch on quickly, and soon we're all going "blah blah blah" together. I try to tousle their heads but they run away and stick out their tongues and thumb their noses.

I give chase to the menaces. They run through the complex screaming and giggling. Now I could easily catch them, but I let them escape. It's a game of cat and mouse—or maybe lion and gopher. I do spot cats lurking about so I figure where there are cats, there must be mice. I discover a few boys hiding behind a large wicker basket and I roar like a lion and scratch the air with my fingers. They squeal and run.

"Jane! Jane!" Zana runs after me, a worried look on her face. "Come, you worry the elders."

"Oh, sorry." I'm an engaged grown-up, but I miss simpler times. I give the boys one more quick chase before returning to Zana who sighs and shakes her head. As I'm defeated, the small boys crawl on me like monkeys, tousling _my_ hair.

The family assembles around a long table in the main hut and sits upon rough-hewn benches. Mothers drag the boys away from me. More Waziri enter the complex, somber with teary eyes. Zule's family hugs them. I understand without being told: these families lost loved ones in the Blackroot assaults.

I feel shame for my recent frivolity given the heavy hearts that surround me.

Once everyone has arrived, we are seated and served a glorious meal of exotic produce, some kind of rustic flatbread, meats cooked so tender they fall off the bone, a hearty stew, all heavily spiced with cumin and pepper. The local wine is strong and sweet. The native cuisine is delicious, and I eat far more than my share, my stomach still rumbling from weeks of deprivation. No one seems to mind. Essie enjoys it as well, sharing looks with Sabu's older brother. I sneak a few tidbits to the dogs who huddle around me, staring up with baleful eyes.

After the meal, my stomach full, I grow sleepy once again. Midnight is approaching, but Zule stands and talks to everyone. Zana translates but I don't really listen, my head on my hand and my eyes closed.

Zana prods me awake. "You must speak."

"Huh?" I wipe some drool from my mouth. Everyone's looking at me.

"They want to know what you will do about Tarzan."

"Me?"

I look around. I sip from my cup of water. "Okay, yeah."

Curse that fruit wine. I draw a deep breath. "The British, backed with Blackroot mercenaries, have captured John, the man you know as Tarzan. They intend to force him into some agreement where he grants the British rights to colonization of his lands."

Zana translates and the assembly mumbles.

"But make no mistake. If the British gain a foothold, they will never relinquish it, and they will continue to push forward. They will kill or enslave the local population, and they will raze the forest for croplands. They are already eying the northern river as a possible trade route. That would bring all kinds of foreign merchants seeking to gain from whipping your backs."

The mumbling increases as Zana relates my message.

I grimace. John's predicament hits me like I've fallen out of a tree again. "The Brits sought to kidnap me to bring John to his knees, but he would have none of it. He fought like a demon, never stopping until my hand lay in his. Struck with a blow dart, he fell, but his thoughts were always on me. They took him, and he is now prisoner—if he lives. There is nothing we can do. That party was only a small contingent of their force. They have three warships at anchor, and likely more on the way, and they have a small force of Blackroot behind them."

The ground feels wobbly, and I clutch the table for support. I realize it is my knees that have given out. I force myself to look upon the assembled. "Perhaps it is best that you move far from here, for once the British establish themselves, there is little you can do."

I fall back to my seat. My own words taste as bitter as Mams' tea.

Essie grips my hand while the assembly mutters amongst themselves.

I am about to excuse myself when I hear shouts. A figure is led toward us, a bedraggled white man. I gasp when I recognize him.

_D'Arnot._

#

My fists clench and my anger surges. I rise to my feet and point. "What is _he_ doing here?"

D'Arnot stops, his eyes wide. "Jane?"

"That is the man who turned against me. That is the man who brought John to his destruction." Rage boils inside of me, as black as muck at the bottom of the local swamps.

"What is she saying? She is mad."

I spring over to the bastard, rear back my arm, and slap his face. Not a girlish slap either. A slap intended to wipe the lies clear out of his mouth.

"You bitch!" He charges me but the Waziri men hold him back.

Zule jumps between us, holding us away from each other. "What is this?"

D'Arnot points at me. "_She_ betrayed John. _She_ told them how to find him."

"He told them we were to be married. He told them everything. They used that information to force things from my lips, to capture John."

"You are weak." D'Arnot spits.

I turn to Zule, praying that he would understand. "They were killing a man, a Waziri." I try to remember his face. "He had scars like this. Tall, like you, but thin. A scout of some kind. I pled for mercy, trying to bargain for the man's life, so I told them what I knew. Once they got what they needed from me, they killed him anyways. I tried, I really did. But none of this would have happened if D'Arnot hadn't told them that I loved John."

Zule's face grows dark. He grabs D'Arnot by the throat and shakes him like a doll. "You. You claim to be John's friend. Yet you turn on him at the first opportunity."

The Frenchman bats away the hand. He is practically frothing. "You don't understand, you ignorant savage. More is at stake here than your pathetic warriors or your vermin-infested land. The very future of the entire continent hangs in the balance. How could you possibly understand? I love John, but he would not listen to reason. Throughout Europe, thousands are starving. Millions. We must fight the battle over who controls this land. John's stake could open up thousands of acres for development."

"Europe's problems are not my concern."

"Europe's problems are _exactly_ your concern. You have no conception of the military power at their disposal. With nary a flick of the wrist, the houses of Europe could send their full might here and flush out any resistance. They would kill every living thing."

I slam the table. "And that is exactly why they must be stopped now, before they can establish a foothold. We must show them what price we are willing to endure to see that they never take this land."

I have no idea how those words left my mouth. I came here on a simple scientific expedition, to collect samples and chronicle the native life, not to fight a battle for the future of the continent. The wide gazes of a couple dozen Africans fall upon me.

I step forward. "My own country, America, fought free of Europe's yoke. It was not easy, but just over a hundred years ago we did it. Lt. D'Arnot speaks of Europe's might, but it failed against common citizens rising to defeat their enemy."

I jump up on the bench, so all in the assembly can hear me, even though only a handful could understand my tongue.

"The reason we won is that we united. We formed the United States. That is what must happen here. We must unite all the elements of Africa together to repel these invaders. We must free John who at this moment suffers intolerable captivity. We must show the Europeans that they do not just fight the Waziri, or even the Blackroot, but that they challenge all of Africa. We do not want their money, their arms, or their help. We did it in America, and we can do it here."

The English speakers relay my words as best they can and the room grows with murmurs.

"This is insanity," says D'Arnot. "You cannot tell me you are listening to the words of a school girl."

"How do you propose to do this?" says Zule. "We have tried ambushes, sabotage. It only encourages reprisals."

I now stand eye-to-eye with the Chieftain. "No. What we need is a full-out assault. A surprise attack. Force the lot of them into the ocean. But we cannot simply fall on their knives and hope they run out. We must be cunning. Draw them out into engagements where we have the tactical advantage. But we will not win a protracted struggle, because as the Lt. says, we cannot afford to bloody them, as they will simply redouble their forces. They will never be as weak and vulnerable as they are right now."

My hands are shaking from the energy rippling through my body.

Mams enters the hut and the tribe parts to let her through. She listens to a translation of all I've said.

She mutters to Zule and then leaves. He looks stunned.

"Mams said that she threw some bones, and that Forest Goddess has decreed that we must heed your call. You are blessed by the spirits, and your heart is true."

"Madness," says D'Arnot, but no one is paying him much attention. I'm not sure how much credence I put into any Forest Goddess, but I do feel my heart is in the right place.

"Please," I say, "if you do not do this for me, do it for John. If he was here, what would he say to this?"

Zule ponders for a second. "He'd already be out the door, knife in hand, intent on destroying the invaders. But he is a god."

"He is not a god! He is as human as any of us, and right now, he suffers as much as any of us can endure. What do _you_ say to this? Will you fight?"

Zule's gaze looks to all his family. No one speaks. It is his decision. He closes his eyes for second, in thought or prayer. When he opens them, he says, "very well. We shall defeat the invaders."

I give a "whoop!" but the rest of the clan is silent. They're not sold. Or they fear the certain death that comes from war.

"Please," I say. "I know many of you may be frightened. But think of John. How many of us will suffer the same fate? I can't promise victory, but I can assure you that if you die, it will be for a just and right cause."

They don't seem swayed.

I stand on the bench and survey the room. "I am going. I will find a way to fight them. I could really use your help, but if not, I understand."

I step down from the bench. I don't know what else to do, so I motion to Esmeralda, and go to our sleep chamber.

I lay down, hoping that I've said enough to convince them in the end.

#

I stare at the ceiling, unable to sleep, fighting the urge to think about what unspeakable torture John is enduring while I enjoy a well-cooked meal and the hospitality of his adopted family. I have no idea if any but Zule will join me, but I have to try. I have to do whatever I can to free John. Every second I spend here is a second that prolongs his suffering.

The house is too quiet, too far from the forest noises that have lulled me to sleep for the past few weeks. Instead, I hear the family moving about, talking amongst themselves, sometimes arguing in hushed voices.

For some reason I find it more comfortable to sleep in a tree than on this straw mat.

Essie returns from some errand, crawling onto her mat and sighing.

"Hey," says Esmeralda. "Yous awake?"

"Yeah."

"You serious bout this squalling?"

"Yeah."

She props herself up by one elbow. A torch in the courtyard outside casts a flickering light on the room.

"I kinda wanna hear what you reckon when we might go home."

I swallow, my throat tight. "Esmeralda, this _is_ our home now. That's why we must fight for it."

"Damn." Esmeralda shakes her head. "Well, I done worse."

We lay in silence. The dogs bark for a second before someone hushes them. I roll over and peer at my friend in the dark. I so long for a companion, and ache at how many friends I've failed to achieve.

"Hey Essie? You know, I almost died out there," I say. "More than once. Pretty much gave up at one point, but I received a sign."

"Oh? You see a light?"

I shake my head. "You won't believe this, but I saw that cursed salamander I've been chasing."

Esmeralda smiles and rolls on her back.

"You don't believe me?" I ask.

"Course I do, Child. _I_ sents you that creeper."

"Do not toy with me, Essie, not right now. That creature is beyond rare. I hardly think that you could find such a specimen in this vast jungle."

Essie turns to me, eyes blazing. "You talking me a liar? Them damn beastie's everywhere."

"What?" I want to leave and find another room if this is how little Esmeralda thinks of me.

"Yeah. Out with my boys, I sees this critter all tangled in skin. Shedding. When he roots out, he's plum red and fixing to hide. Crawls under rocks. Emerges all black and shiny."

I digest her words. "Wait. You're saying that my Red-spotted Pearl Salamander is nothing but a common Pearl Salamander who's shed his skin? How the blazes did you catch one?"

Essie shrugs. "Once I seed one do it, kept my peepers open. Gotta eye for their old skin. Rolled some rocks and viola, gotcha. I knewed you'd reckon the skunk so I chucked it over."

I prop myself up on one elbow and ponder how I've spent months preparing for a journey in search of this one creature, and it turns out not to be anything like I had imagined. "Esmeralda LaRue. Do you know what this means?"

"Expedition's been a waste?"

"No. It means that at your heart, you're a scientist. You've made an amazing discovery. No wonder they are so rare—they don't exist except for a few minutes after they molt. And secondly, I could never take credit for your effort. Any papers shall have your name of it as well."

"Keep me off your writings." Esmeralda looks at me for a minute, then speaks as plain English as I've ever heard off her tongue. "Listen girl, I've been thinking about that critter. It can't grow without shedding no skin. But when it do, it come out a new creature. I sees what you did in the jungle, with your beau, and your fancy tonguing tonight. You just like that critter. You shedding your child-skin, and blossoming like something else. Yeah, maybe you go back to being plain old salma-nander in the end, but right now, you all shiny. Don't you crawl back under no rocks and hide, you hear?"

#

The next day shimmers with activity. Zule escorts me throughout the city, and I must repeat my plea to save Africa to every family until my throat is sore. A few refuse to entertain a white woman, shutting their hut flaps emphatically. I start to understand what it means to be a politician, since in each home that welcomes me, I must sample the food, hold the babies, and pet the dogs. My engagement to John sways some hearts, until they ask me about procreation.

I mean I _do_ want babies, with John of course, but I have always wanted to attain my PhD first. My head still battles my heart, and the thought of children at my age is daunting. All I care about right now is rescuing John. I can't even fathom life beyond that. Besides, I'm not even sure what _John_ wants for our future.

At the end of this stressful day comes the council meeting called by Zule. Runners have fetched many of the outlying families. All the major Waziri clans have representatives sitting under the wide straw canopy. Torches flicker, and a light rain dampens the atmosphere.

I lean to Zule as I study the congregation. "How many fighting men do all these families represent?"

"Perhaps fifty."

Fifty men against a garrison of well-armed, well-trained British colonials. My heart quails.

"Are there others we can recruit?"

"Perhaps a hundred more."

"That's hardly all of Africa."

Zule stares down at me. "Many of our neighboring tribes have surrendered to the Blackroot."

"Can we get them back?"

Zule looks at me. "You wish to deal with the Blackroot?"

I return the gaze. "You said they were your own people. They must not have much love for their conquerors. Perhaps this is the time they turn back."

Zule shakes his head. "They are lost to us. They are now slaves to greed, to rum, to whatever vices the Blackroot provide. They have sunk into depravity."

Zule looks thoughtful as he surveys the assembly. He lays a hand on my back. "Perhaps there is a way." He doesn't say more.

Their council is endless and incomprehensible, and lasts far into the night. I pronounce my impassioned plea for the umpteenth time. Then everyone has his turn, reciting his own plea. I had thought Africa uncivilized, but here in the heart of it comes the most civilized of debate, shaming even our own Congress, which seemed embroiled in petty name-calling the one and only time I visited my nation's Capital. Then again, the Waziri's debate is endless and unstructured. I slump at the table.

A hand shakes me awake.

"Come," says Zule. "It is done."

"It is? What was decided?"

"We accept your challenge. John is one of us, a full-blooded Waziri, and my brother. It may mean the end of the Waziri, but John, and now you, are our heart and soul. We are as one, one family. But, like you observed, our numbers are small, and we have little ammunition. So we must do the thing we dread the most. We must contact the Blackroot, and parlay with them. Their demands will test our souls, and our people will suffer, but we might be able to move them to our cause."

I watch the families depart the grand assembly hut. "Anything I can do?"

"Unless you have a stash of treasure to offer them, the Blackroot will demand everything we own for their services."

Without hesitation, I reach behind, unclasp my necklace, and hand it to Zule. "This is a rare antiquity, priceless on a European market. How many men will this buy?"

Zule holds it up to the torch. "Maybe a dozen. Are you sure you wish to part with it?"

I nod. "Without John, the necklace is meaningless. And if he truly loves me, he'll find me another one." I wink at Zule and he flashes his teeth at me in a smile.

"Yes, I suppose he will. Perhaps a whole room full of them."

I don't reply. Is Zule hinting at the Lost City's treasure? It is awfully tempting to raid that trove, but John impressed on me the need to keep it secret, as any hint of its existence would lead to its looting.

Then again, I'm sure John wouldn't mind me borrowing a few trinkets to help ensure his rescue.

Zule leans down to me. "I will leave at dawn for the Blackroot. You shall help our chieftains plan the assault, telling them everything you can remember about the camp. If I do not return word after four days, consider my quest a failure."

I grasp the towering man's arm. "I don't know if we can do this without you."

"And you might not be able to do it without our enemies joining with us."

He presses my shoulder and turns away.

I leave with a hard knot in my gut. Everything seems to ride on Zule's success.

When I return to my room, Esmeralda is already asleep. I wonder if the British have not already won, and we are simply sending good men to their deaths, destroying families, and perhaps dooming the tribe as well. But I will not "hide under a rock" as Esmeralda warned.

"There must be another way," I say to myself. "There must."


	11. Chapter 10

**Chapter Ten**

Out in the far growing fields of the Waziri, I stick-fight with youths.

I practice shooting with the Waziri's crude rifles.

I nock arrows and toss spears.

But when I look out upon the training ground, I count precious few bodies willing to fight for my cause. My heart shivers. I ache to get moving. The Brits may have already returned to camp by now. John's peril grows by the hour.

I slice melon after melon with a short sword, my arms dripping with their sticky guts.

I sprint and roll, duck and jump.

I lead the younger boys into the dense jungle to try to teach them tree-walking, but half of them get stuck in the lowest branches and cry, while the ones who make it up are paralyzed by fear. I can't get even one of them to swing on a vine two feet above the ground.

I wonder if living among the trees has given them a healthy fear of falling. John was raised by tree-dwelling animals, so he must have lost his fear as an infant.

As to my abilities, I have no explanation. In her earlier years, my mother once claimed that she had an uncle in the circus back in the Old Country, and he might have been a trapeze artist. That woman said a lot of things.

I finally encourage the boys to swing on a vine…by jumping into a pool of water. They run, grab the vine, and hurl themselves into the pond, screaming the whole time.

I suppose it's a start.

Another day rises and departs with no word from Zule.

I talk to the Chieftains about the layout of the British camp, how they are high up on a cleared hill.

"It's fairly impregnable," I say. "If we could knock down those palisades, we might have a chance, but in the open, it's a clear shot from anywhere along that wall." They grunt and argue with raised hands and stomp in the dirt.

I go to bed, turning it over in my mind.

On the third day, we sprint across the training ground. Each day my limbs grow stronger, fuller. We're interrupted by boys waving and screaming. I can't quite understand their tongue yet, although I've made a lot of progress working with Zana, but everyone grabs their weapons and pursues the boys.

My heart skitters. Could the British have invaded this far already?

The boys lead us down toward the river. I see them from the distance—my herd of elephants, led by Tantor and trailed by Minnie. The boys run after the elephants, waving their spears.

I sprint double-time, my legs carrying me like the wind past them. I slow and spin around. "Halt!"

The boys don't heed me, so I trip them with my spear until half of them lie on the ground holding their shins.

I put the butt of my spear on the dirt and try to speak the Waziri tongue. "These are my friends. Friends of Tarzan."

"Dinner," says one in Waziri, rubbing his belly.

"No." I turn and run to Minnie. The elephants trumpet and flap their ears as I approach, but I can see a sort of smile on Minnie's face. As I close on her, she wraps her trunk around me affectionately.

"Yes, I've missed you too." I pat her jowl. She sniffs me for treats. "I hope you haven't seen any more poachers. Have you found a new beau yet? No? That's okay, no rush."

Minnie tosses me on her back. Fortunately, I'm ready for it so I land with aplomb.

I raise my spear in victory and the boys cheer.

I jump down and lead Minnie to the boys. She's hesitant, unwilling to trust unfamiliar men, but I coax her forward with soft words and strokes of her trunk.

"Fruit? Who has fruit?"

A couple boys offer small melons and she takes them with her trunk.

"See? Friend."

Once the other elephants see that Minnie is receiving treats, they hustle over. The boys cower in fear but I hush them. They surrender their food to the gathering elephants.

I slide off Minnie. "Who wants a ride?"

One by one, I help the boys up onto an elephant, hoping the majestic beasts don't eject their occupants. The boys are less afraid of the elephants than swinging from a simple vine.

I wave to my army. "To the village! But first—we stop in the jungle to secure more treats."

#

I must say, we leave a lasting impression with the Waziri. Sabu's up on Tantor at the front, I'm riding Minnie in the rear, and we escort almost 20 elephants down the main street of town. Elephants walk incredibly quietly when they choose, so it's like a fleet of dark ships passing down a river. The residents gawk and scream, and a few wayward elephants knock over tables or empty cooking pots, but the effect is as I desire.

We pass far out of town before we dismount. After setting up a makeshift corral, I send the boys back for their dinner. I seek out Tantor.

I stroke his trunk. "What do you say, Tantor? Will you join us on our quest to free John?"

I'm not sure if he nods or simply is searching me for more fruit, but I get the sense that he understands when he presses his snoot onto my head and messes up my hair.

The village elders provide me a with stern lecture when I return, berating me for the destruction the elephants caused passing through town.

I listen to all of it, my hands on my lap, and at the end, I simply say, "Then imagine what havoc they will cause to the British camp if they lead a charge straight through it."

That seems to cow them.

It's a start, but we're still going to need more firepower. I don't wish for these wondrous beasts to be torn apart by the British.

#

The fourth day comes and goes with no word from Zule. A creeping dread consumes me, but my day is filled with training of elephants.

As long as we maintain a steady supply of fruit, the beasts will do whatever we want. I spend half the day in the trees procuring the most succulent morsels. Have I mentioned how much elephants consume in a given day?

They are the most amazing animals. Training is a game to them. We have to teach them not to start or panic during gunfire or screaming. How to stay in formation and maintain a wall. How not to get distracted by shiny objects and wander aimlessly. Or their favorite—how to push stuff over. They are highly curious, which is why I wonder how monkeys got that distinction, because most of the monkeys we encounter give us a wide berth.

That night, the war council sits and argues about whether we should leave or not, whether we should just give up now and avoid further losses. I try to speak but they shout me down. I think they still smart from my elephant demonstration. I sit in a corner with my knees drawn up to my chest, a sour look upon my face.

The hour grows late. I can sense what's going on. The men in the room are consumed with fear. I don't blame them. I don't see how a small band of poorly armed warriors sitting on barely trained animals stands a chance against a well-entrenched enemy.

But damn if we're not going to try.

I walk into the center of the council hut. "Enough!" I cry. "I leave for the British camp at first light, with or without you. We must get to Tarzan. We must! I am taking the elephants. Good night, I hope to see you on the field."

With that, I stride out. I have so little time for old men's fears. John's life is at stake.

I have to say I don't sleep much, listening to the sounds of the house for any sign that Zule has returned. When dawn arrives, I'm groggy and feeling down. Esmeralda's already up, helping the housewives with breakfast. I find her in the cooking area.

"We're leaving," I tell her. "Are you staying?"

"And miss the shindiggery?"

"Listen, I don't know if we can keep you safe. If we fail and you are captured, they may hurt you as a conspirator."

Esmeralda shrugs. "I had worse."

That seems to be her mantra. I shiver to think about what her "worse" has been. "Okay, we'll try to keep you safe. You ready?"

"Well, I gotta eyeball my tea first. Ain't no victry slog without it."

I smile and put my hand on her shoulder. "Someday I hope you become a famous winemaker and build your own chateau."

She looks at me. "Oh, I kin you was gonna speech something else."

"Like what?"

"Like you're hogged that I'm sucklin too much tea, turning into my elds."

"Oh. Ohhh." I'm not sure what to say to that. "You do make really good wine." I clasp her shoulder, and then hug her. "If you want maybe we could leave the wine behind. I'm sure the women here will need it while we're gone."

Esmeralda hugs me back. "Okay."

I pull away and see a deep sadness in her eyes, some kind of misery that can only be soothed with alcohol.

"And then when we return here victorious, we'll drink ourselves silly. How does that sound?"

Esmeralda smiles. "Yeah. Hey, I gots something for you. Come."

I follow her. "It's not tea, is it?"

Back in our room, she reaches to the back of a high shelf and pulls down a wooden box. My heart beats a tick faster. She hands it to me, and I almost drop it in my excitement.

"No!" I open it. It's a Navy Colt revolver complete with twenty bullets, shiny and new. "How? When?"

"I licked around. Some wrinkled chiefy got it as lolly a couple years back. I did him one better, and he forked it to me."

I lift the cold metal weapon from its felt case and spin the cylinder. "This is incredible." I look down the barrel. "Never fired. Wait—what 'lolly'? You mean favors?" I look at Esmeralda, wondering what she could do to earn such a prize.

Esmeralda smiles. "Don't split your top hat on that. Sorry I couldn't rip you no gun belt, and that's the lot for widow balls."

I try not to think about how she did it and I hug Esmeralda for all she's worth. "Thank you, thank you. I'll find some way to carry it." I load the case into a sack. "Ready?"

"Yeah, I reckon."

The sun is already high when I reach the makeshift corral where we keep the elephants. Bright red birds circle above, cawing to each other. I say 'corral', but there's not much we can do if elephants choose to leave.

The boys are there, but the older warriors are missing. My heart drops. "Is this it?" I ask Sabu.

"Our warriors wait for Zule," he says. "They will not march without him."

"And you?"

Sabu gazes at me with intense eyes. "I fight for Tarzan. He is my brother."

I sense more than that for him, a yearning to prove himself. I certainly empathize with that.

So my army is twenty-odd boys, mostly my age or younger, mounting twenty-odd elephants, themselves willful and distractible, using weapons that America's founding fathers would have laughed at. So much for uniting all of Africa. I can't even unite one village. It shall be a glorious defeat.

A thought strikes me. "Do your parents know you're with me?"

Sabu smirks. "We told them you changed your mind and desired another day of training."

Great. Now I'll have twenty families angry with me. Then I smile. "Good job. When you don't return for dinner, they'll _have _to join us." Yes, these boys are my hostages, but they've left me no choice.

I charge to Minnie, grab her trunk, and she obediently flips me up on her back. I help Zana, my language trainer and interpreter, up behind me. I stand on Minnie while everyone else mounts. Esmeralda rides with Sabu on Tantor. We've fashioned mats to strap on the elephant's backs to make us secure and comfortable and to hold our supplies. "Listen up! We are leaving Waziri land. There is no guarantee that any of us shall return. If anyone has the slightest hesitation, then please, go back to your family. None of us will think the lesser of you."

Nobody moves. White eyes stare out of black faces, a few striped with war paint. I shiver. These boys should be tending fields, or sitting in classrooms, not sitting upon beasts of war. "Good. Now. We'll need to travel at night so the elephants stay cool enough to keep moving. We must keep our animals as happy as possible."

We're in pairs…two riders per elephant, and two elephants in a group, one holding the other's tail.

We turn to the forest, to the east. I stand high on Minnie and put my hands to my mouth.

"Aaaaooooaaaaaaaoooaoaoaoaaaaaaooooo!"

The boys repeat my war cry. So do the elephants, lifting their trunks in the air and trumpet, filling the forest with eerie echoes.

#

In a clearing overflowing with white and pink flowers and bounded by towering trees, we take our first rest. I've barely sated my thirst at a stream when the boys start yelling. Something crashes through the nearby brush. I snatch my new Colt from its makeshift holster and run to meet the disturbance.

A man on horseback enters the clearing. A dozen arrows are notched and aimed at the intruder, but I hold up my hand. I've impressed upon the boys to not fire without my signal.

I recognize the rider. _D'Arnot._ I stand next to Minnie who eyes the man suspiciously and snorts.

D'Arnot dismounts his horse and holds the reins. I have no idea where he found a horse but the mare seems less than thrilled to be in the company of tusk-bearing elephants. "You," he says, his demeanor full of vitriol, pointing at me. "Do you know what you've done? Turn this column around at once and return to the Waziri."

"No."

"No? No? Are you daft? You cannot possibly take on the British with this band of infants." He turns to the boys. "Come. We return."

None of them obey. My chest bursts with pride.

"Leave us," I say. "You go back to the sniveling cowards."

D'Arnot eyes me. "Girl, you are playing with young men's lives. I will not put up with your meddling any longer." He whips out his pistol and trains it on my head. "Now you will come with me like a good little girl."

I raise an eyebrow. I replace my Colt in its holster. I cross my arms.

"I think not."

"You think I will not use this?" He shivers the pistol at me.

"You are a wise man." With one hand I raise two fingers.

All around comes the sound of creaking bows. The boys who have not dismounted stand on their elephants, drawing aim on D'Arnot.

"You would not," he says, looking around.

I twitch my fingers and two twangs ring out. Two arrows slam the ground next to D'Arnot.

"The next will not miss," I say. Nervous tics threaten to disrupt my cool demeanor but I fight to remain calm.

"You…you…" He sputters but lowers his weapon. "You will get all these boys killed. Do you hear me? She leads you into death. What will you tell their parents, girl? Will you be able to face them and tell them their children are dead? Look at them, some of them are barely off their mother's teat. And you, thinking you're some kind of jungle war goddess. What will you tell them?"

I swallow and glance at the boys. They have families, loved ones. I witnessed their families' grief firsthand when I arrived at the village. I face D'Arnot. "I will tell them they died like men, in defense of their friend Tarzan. They are already being murdered by the Blackroot; I am only teaching them how to defend themselves. What about you? What will you tell John when we have rescued him and you have huddled back in the village like a coward? How far are _you_ from your mother's teat?"

D'Arnot rushes me, raising his pistol to my face. I hear bows creak once again, but I raise my hand. The French officer's face contorts in rage, but I stand my ground.

"Lt. D'Arnot," I say in a calm, even voice that belies my racing heart. "You seem quite brave, when facing a woman, when facing a defenseless animal. Why do the British frighten you so?"

He doesn't respond, but his weapon drops to his side. "That is not it."

"Then what is it? Why have you tried to thwart me at every turn?"

He looks at me with lonely eyes. "Jane, I…"

I grasp it only a moment before he grasps me.

"Let me go!"

He grips my forearms, some kind of crazed light in his eyes. He drops his weapon. "Jane, I must have you."

He tries to pull my face to his. I struggle against his strength, fear rippling through me. What about this continent brings out the worst in men? Just as his nasty lips find mine, a trunk snakes around him and Minnie lifts the brute into the air. Minnie's looking pretty murderous. I'm feeling pretty murderous. Esmeralda runs to my side while D'Arnot vainly tries to free himself.

"Make her stop," he gasps. "Call off your beast!"

My boys spring to my side, spears ready to open D'Arnot's throat. "What should we do, Spirit Girl? Shall we dispatch him to his ancestors?"

I'm sorely tempted. I'd love to make an example of him, tying him to a tree and letting the boys practice their torture upon him.

But he is still John's friend. I may not forgive D'Arnot, but I believe this issue better settled between the two. Yet, I cannot resist the urge for a small demonstration. My boys need to see what will happen to our enemies. I motion to Minnie to drop him, and the man plunks on the ground.

D'Arnot looks as forlorn as can be. I place a foot on him. "So, you want Tarzan out of the picture so you could have me for yourself? You are beyond pathetic."

I examine his pistol, cock it, and aim it at his head. "Goodbye, Lieutenant."

"Wait, please." The sniveling weasel begs for his life.

"For what?"

"I—I can help rescue John. I know what their plans are."

"What 'plans'? Why should I believe you? How do I know you won't betray us, or even cut my throat in the night?"

"I swear on John's life."

"Not good enough!"

"I—I swear by everything that is holy, by France, by my dead mother."

"All crap to me."

I look at him. Pathetic. I reconsider my mercy. Our elephants could use practice killing men. "Very well. If you are sincere, give us a part."

"Part of what?"

I grab him by the hair. "Ear, eye, tooth, toe. What will it be?"

"You want me to sacrifice a body part?" The look of horror is complete.

Esmeralda motions to the boys and one of them hands me a wicked knife.

"Personally I'd go for the tooth. Hurts like hell but only for a day or so, if you don't bleed to death. Severing a toe would keep you from running away. What do you say?"

D'Arnot sputters. I swing the blade toward his eyes.

"Tooth! Tooth!"

"Esmeralda, see if you can round up a hammer and chisel."

I toss his head away. D'Arnot pants on the ground. They fetch me crude tools from one of the elephant packs. Five boys grab D'Arnot, and we force a branch into his mouth to keep it open. The boys peel back his lips, exposing his teeth.

I line up the chisel with a nasty looking molar near the back, one that should have come out long ago. D'Arnot gasps and keens, sweat pouring down his brow.

I place the chisel against the tooth, swing the hammer back, and then strike it for all I'm worth.

His mouth explodes with blood. He writhes against the hands holding him down.

"Hold it open," I cry. "I need to make sure the whole tooth is out."

Sure enough, I've only knocked off the crown. "Pliers! Get me pliers!"

I'm handed an implement, grab the root of the tooth, and yank the thing out. I hold it high over my head, and the boys cheer. The elephants trumpet.

It's my first gory trophy. Esmeralda helps the man hold a cloth to his injured jaw. Blood drips from his face as he gargles his screams.

I walk back to the stream to wash the blood from the tooth. In a clear spot, I catch my reflection, my visage splattered with the man's blood. I do not look like the girl who left Baltimore a few months ago. I see a white-skinned, blonde savage, with thoroughly tangled hair. I decide not to wash the blood away. My boys need to see me as a leader, as a killer.

I walk back to the man who gasps and sputters. "If you betray me again, or touch any woman in manner she does not desire, I will keep cutting off body parts. Are we clear?"

He manages to nod through his obvious pain.

I shout so all may hear. "We will all have our kills, and when we return, the tables of the Waziri shall overflow with the grisly trophies of our enemies!"

I think there might be more Indian in me than I thought, because the notion of collecting scalps suddenly seems intriguing.

#

We begin to remount. Esmeralda shoves Zana away.

"Go make water," she orders the Waziri girl.

She waits until Zana's out of earshot. "Now what the hellfire was that? This ain't you, Jane."

I avoid her gaze, fastening supplies to Minnie's mat. "It is now."

"You gonna whip through all of us? Frenchie got some thinking. We out here gainst meat grinders. We'll be burgers."

I glance at her. "And what would you have me do?"

"Some John flashes his whites and now you're shagging teeth? Fixing to rampage through them bullies? I say we tiptoe off and leave with our skins. You ain't been where I been, child. You don't know what a he-man will rip you."

I huff. I nod with my head. "Come." I organize my thoughts as we walk out of earshot of anyone who might understand English. "You're right. This is a silly expedition, and we'll most likely wind up tortured or dead. I have no business leading these boys, I have no training whatsoever."

"So let's slap this party and vamoose!"

"Yes, that would be the wisest course of action. Just let the boys go home, let the elephants wander off, and let John get what's coming to him. I'm sure they'll let him go when they get what they want. The Waziri will find some other lands when the British move in. The animals will find some other place too. This is a huge continent, after all. I'll have my specimens, and you'll have stories you can tell your grandchildren."

Esmeralda stands with her hands on her hips. She opens her mouth to speak, raises her hand to point at me, then drops it. Her shoulders slump. "I ain't never having young'uns."

I touch her shoulder. "Come Essie, you'll find love someday."

She slaps my hand away and crosses her arms across her chest. "No. I mean, my innards all bent. I'm barren as Hannah."

"Oh."

Esmeralda turns away. "Don't you pity me."

I step close, and place my hand on her shoulder. "Listen, Essie. There is a camp a few days from here, full of men who would hurt a woman as easily as they crack an egg. I'm not here to pity you. I'm here to put a gun in your hand, send you to those men, and show them that we're not going to be pushed around and abused any longer."

Esmeralda sniffles. "You crazy. You moon-dog crazy. Girls fighting with guns. What next? We gonna vote and become gub'ners?"

"I don't know. But it starts here, in Africa."

"We's all gonna get skewered. You leading us down to a pool of fire. You playing with the natural order of things, you gonna make the Earth open up and swallow us. Swinging from trees. We ground people. You waving that tooth trophy like it some medal. I sees you. You mad as a mouse fighting termites."

I pull Esmeralda close so we're eye-to-eye. "Yes. Yes I am. They've captured a man who laid his life down for me, and I will do the same for him. I am mad. Mad at what this world has taken from me, and I'm tired of being powerless to stop it. I will take from them. I will take John, I will take their land, and I will take their teeth, and I will take their souls. Or I will die trying."

Esmeralda backs away, shaking her head. "You raising the devil. I seen eyes like yours once in a rabid coon. You leading us to damnation."

I grip her wrist, fighting the fear of losing my one friend. "Are you with me?"

The woman stares at my hand and then back to me. "Well I ain't no stranger to the devil. There surely is a hell waiting for us at the end of this."

#

The elephants wander and refuse our commands, as after the first day they grow tired and cranky. One boy is thrown from his ride and nearly cracks his skull. I hope he'll be okay but he's having trouble talking straight. I've taken the time to try to inspect him at each stop. A pair of elephants sit and refuse to continue, bleating, no matter what fruit we promise. We leave them behind. D'Arnot stops bleeding by morning, and is now a humble member of our ranks. We send his horse back, as she resists working alongside elephants.

There is an advantage to riding elephants that I didn't imagine. You would think because of their bulk they would be hard-pressed to move through thick vegetation, but the opposite is true. They just kind of push through like it's grass. We're able to cut corners on the trail we're following, hopefully saving us hours here and there, although our travel by night reverses that advantage.

It's the fourth day since we left the Waziri, a hot, sweaty afternoon where the sun seems to boil everything it can touch. We have just started our evening's work when the scout up front calls a halt. Instantly twenty boys with bows and rifles stand on their mounts, scanning the forest. I direct Minnie to the trees. I grab a vine and swing up. I hear some low grunting, and then see the hairy bodies.

"Hold your fire!" I swing through the trees and land amidst a pack of apes. "Kerchak!"

A giant gorilla thumps his chest. The other apes greet me with squawks and barks, some flipping completely head-over-heels. Down on the forest floor, Esmeralda is greeting them as well. They're motioning to their lips, begging her for her tea.

I explain to Kerchak as best I can. I make a small version of John's yell, then show my hands tied together. I point to the coast and make ocean sounds. I imitate British soldiers. I have to repeat a few times, but eventually I think Kerchak understands, because he grows angry, growling and beating his chest. Then comes the harder part.

I point to my small army. I try to show us attacking the British, one hand miming an elephant, the other a man with a gun.

"Will you help us? Will you join our army to fight the British invaders?"

Kerchak growls menacingly, and then jumps away, swinging through the trees in a wide circle, inciting all the other apes to start screaming and jumping. I realize that maybe he thinks the attack is imminent.

I wave Kerchak back over, and try to mime that we have to wait many days before we can attack. "Ssh." I show the sun rising and setting, elephants and people walking, apes swinging, then mime the ocean again and point to the far horizon. "Be patient."

Kerchak grumbles with disappointment, roaring into the gathering night. I find his wish to enter battle for John both humbling and disturbing, as they seem to be mostly docile creatures.

I wonder if the same can be said for mankind. My conversation with Esmeralda echoes in my mind.

We set off into the gathering night, now with a pack of wild apes trailing us through the trees.

#

The next morning, we're about to bed down. The elephants are exhausted, leaning against trees and slumping down on their sides. I collect as much fruit as I can for them, but I can tell from the drooping of their hides that they just aren't eating enough and they're losing weight. I wonder if I should give them a day of rest to just wander and eat but we don't have that luxury.

I check on the boy with the concussion and he seems a touch more coherent today, so hopefully he'll make a full recovery from his fall. He talks to me about how many men he will kill and he wants to be reassured that he has my blessing. D'Arnot refuses my company but I notice that he's eating solid food again.

I pull some banana leaves together to make a crude bed after choosing which boys will stand watch in what order. I've been trying to sleep from sunup to around noon. What I wouldn't give for a full day of sleep myself. Esmeralda's and Zana's bed are next to mine. The apes gather overhead, muttering but searching for comfortable notches.

I've barely closed my eyes when I hear rifle shots. Before I'm awake, I'm up in the trees and swinging to the source of the shots. The apes scatter. I rush along the boughs and look down upon a tense scene.

Sabu and a couple boys have cornered some native men. There's a lot of shouting back and forth. A man lays dead on the ground, a gunshot to his chest. Shimmering torches light the scene.

My boys threaten the men with "the Wrath of the Goddess."

I swing down behind Sabu. The natives gasp, pointing at me.

"What is it?" I ask Sabu. "Who are they?"

Sabu doesn't buy into the 'Goddess' talk. "Hunters."

I recognize their markings as a local tribe. The hunters shake, knives in their hands. I step in front of the boys, my hands open. The hunters eye me with fear and reverence.

"Does anyone speak their language?"

One boy steps forward. "My mother is from their tribe." He translates for me.

"Hello," I say. "My name is Jane. You will not be harmed."

They look at me with wide eyes. One of them drops to his knees. I suppose I should be flattered. With a wave of my hand I could have them executed, but that is not my purpose here. If there's any way these men could help our cause, I must pursue it.

I turn to Sabu. "Why is that man dead?"

"He was about to fire on Tantor when we spotted him. He didn't notice us. We had no choice."

I look upon the corpse for a moment, and then turn to the hunters. "We are sorry for your loss." My throat is tight. "We might be able to compensate you."

The hunters eye me warily, but they lower their weapons.

"We are on a warpath against the British invaders on the coast. I'm sure your men have encountered them. If you join us and we prevail, you can keep whatever you can loot. Guns, ammunition, gold.

The lead hunter speaks. "You are the jungle spirit. You walk with Tarzan, our sworn enemy."

"I am sure Tarzan will greatly appreciate any assistance in his rescue. Perhaps you have warred with the Waziri long enough. Maybe this is an opportunity to forge a new alliance."

The hunters eye me and talk amongst themselves. They speak through my interpreter.

"We want to know if you are a true jungle goddess."

I stare at the boy and the men. I raise my arms high. Elephants nose through the trees, and apes swing above. I feel Minnie's truck on my shoulder, snuffling to see if I have any fruit I'm not giving her. Kerchak grunts in a branch above my head. The men's eyes grow wide again.

They speak. "Even if you are a tree-walker and an animal-talker, what makes you think you can be a chieftain? A killer?"

Why must I prove myself at every turn?

"The British hold my love, and I will stop at nothing to free him. I am a lioness with unbounded rage. We will defeat the invaders or die trying. Now tell them to make a choice. Are they with me or not? If they are, then tell them to return before sundown with bushels of fruits for the elephants and whatever weapons they have. Otherwise, if we see them again, I will order them shot on sight."

The hunters nod and we let them escape. A thought occurs to me that they have another choice: they could curry favor with the British if they run ahead and warn them, and then turn upon us.

I sleep fitfully, thinking about the dead man they carried away. I have a long talk with the boy who shot the hunter, assuring him that he did the right thing. The elephants could have stampeded if one of them was shot, killing all of us.

D'Arnot's silent about the whole thing, but I catch him glowering.

I awake again to shouting and spring into the conflict. Twenty of the hunters appear with baskets and long weapons. I direct the boys to feed the elephants and I talk to their leader through an interpreter.

"Welcome," I say. It's still forty men, three women, eighteen elephants, and perhaps two-dozen apes against the British Expeditionary Force. The men carry bows, spears, and rifles. "You will guard the rear of the column. You are under my direct orders, no one else. But let me assure you, you will be no rear-guard during the attack. You are not to shoot any large game animals except for hogs and bush buck, but we of course would appreciate whatever food you can contribute."

I take my position at the rear of the elephant troops with Minnie, next to D'Arnot's mount. For the millionth time I look back on the trail, wondering when and if the balance of the Waziri will rally to support their boys.

"Your army grows," calls the Frenchman, finally breaking his sullen silence. "More deaths on your conscience."

"I can take another tooth." I drop Minnie back even further, closer to the hunter tribesmen.

Sometime during the long night, I'm half-asleep when Minnie stops and rears back. We've fallen well off the pace and the troops are nowhere in sight, but I can hear branches crackling off in the distance.

"What is it, girl?"

A dark figure stands before us. It roars in the moonlight.

It's Tarzan's lion friend Numa. Minnie skitters backwards, on the edge of bolting. "Calm, girl, calm." Zana clutches my back.

"Stay here," I say to the girl.

I slide off Minnie and walk to the lion. He rumbles and growls as I approach. I lay a hand on his mane.

"You miss John? Good little kitty." I kneel down next to the beast. I hand him some scraps of meat from our last meal which he gobbles. "We're going to find John, I promise." Zana holds up a torch and I can see that the lion is wounded, a clean gunshot to his haunch, poor guy, barely able to walk. "Come with us and you can be in the attack. I think a lion would definitely disturb them, and you can have your revenge."

I coax Minnie around the lion, and then encourage him to follow us. I remount Minnie, and look back. I spot his silhouette in the darkness, but then I lose him. I hope he's following.

Score one lion on our side.


	12. Chapter 11

**Chapter Eleven**

I stare through binoculars at the British camp several miles away. I'm up in a tall tree, so high even I'm a little nervous. We've seen no sign of Captain Mann's column, so I conclude with a sigh that they've made it safely to the base, and Tarzan lies somewhere within, if he lives. I shudder to think of what he endures.

Out on the far ocean I count three more ships, six total, but from this distance, I can't tell whether the other three are the same or new arrivals, but whatever the case, their numbers have swelled.

The camp is alive with activity, construction of wooden buildings, training troops, stacking crates for transport to the coast. The tree line has been pushed even further away, leaving far too much open space for my comfort.

The gorillas and elephants have grown skittish, perhaps sensing how close we are to the enemy. It's unbelievable how much damage the British have caused, from rotting carcasses of animals killed for sport, to groves of trees decimated for lumber. It's as if a cancerous sore has taken root in Africa.

The camp itself has been fortified with a thick wooden barricade. Nothing a few cannon rounds couldn't breach, but I worry about the elephants, whether they can take the walls down. The two main gates seem well-guarded, with troops patrolling with bayonet-tipped rifles. All told, I guess there's maybe four hundred soldiers in there.

I return to our camp and bring what I call my officers together: Sabu, D'Arnot, and the Sushani tribe's leader Bin. I relay all that I've seen, but as I talk, I find my courage flagging. Can I really send the men I've spent weeks with into battle? What about the elephants? It was all grand scheme back in Waziri country, but now when faced with the hard reality, witnessing the weapons and men arrayed against us, I admit to heavy trepidation that leaves my throat dry.

To be fair, I suspect a slaughter if we were to launch an outright attack.

We draw the layout of the camp in the dirt, using rocks and twigs to indicate obstacles. Over the last few days, we've come up with a general strategy: lead a charge through the camp with the elephants, causing as much destruction as possible in a short time. Then we bolt, leading their force into the forest where we set up an ambush. In the confusion, a few of us stay behind in camp to rescue John. Again, a fine plan when created with sticks, less appealing when faced with expert riflemen and cannons.

I argue with the men over our approach for what seems like hours, but I know what I'm really doing—I'm stalling, hoping to delay our inevitable demise. I imagine dying within a stone's throw of my love, unable to succor him. Or he escapes, only to find my head blow off. I shiver despite the heat, wishing my nerves wouldn't flee in my hour of greatest need.

"Well?" says D'Arnot, discerning my ruse. "We have come a long way to stop now. Will we assault the camp tonight or not? Or ever?"

"Just give me time to consider all the options."

"We've done that. What else is there to discuss? John is probably being tortured as we speak." The man hovers close, his unshaven face flickering in torchlight.

I nearly pull out my hair.

D'Arnot leans to me. "You wanted this. You wanted to be the leader of all this."

"I just wish we had more people, more guns."

"You child. Who did you think you'd go up against? The neighborhood backyard bully? These are war-hardened men. So then. Are we settled? Are we ready to return to the Waziri now and forget this expedition?"

I hold my palms up. "No. Just—just give me a minute. I need a break."

His breath touches my face. "Time's wasting. Every second we delay, there's a chance a patrol might discover us. One sound out of those elephants or chimps and they're sure to investigate. We must depart at once."

"Okay! Just—hold on!"

I get up and walk around the forest glade. I pour some of my canteen's contents over my head, the water soothing my face. I certainly don't want these boys to die. They have been fine soldiers, the best I could ask for given the circumstances. I find Minnie. Esmeralda and Zana work on patching some of the elephant harnesses, straws in their hands.

"Listen," I say to them. "I need you two to leave. Get on Minnie, and get as far away from here as you can."

"I ain't chickening you," says Esmeralda. "No sir."

"Not me too," says Zana. "We are as much warriors as the boys."

"Go. That's an order. I can't be worrying about you."

Esmeralda stands and drops the elephant harness. "You aiming to shovel us out? We got just as much angus with them Brits as anyone."

"Please," I plead. "For me."

Esmeralda points a finger at me. "You sayin' we's bitties and we can't tussle? What makes you so shiny? Just cause you're all aping from trees? Ooh, look at me, I's can fly. Well we ain't hustled all this way for black-eyes. You throw us on Miss Minnie and we'll scander right back round."

I fight back a tear, looking at my most loyal soldiers of all. I cannot contemplate their destruction, but they are warriors—soldiers that I created. "Okay, just stay safe. I couldn't bear to lose you." We hug. "And I'm sorry, I didn't mean to say you weren't worthy. I'm just getting scared."

"Look up some time, girl." Essie points to the heavens. I think she means, "have faith." If it were so easy…

I leave them and return to my officers. I pace for a second, gathering my thoughts and then I turn to the assembly of twigs that is our battle plan. John's freedom must be our priority, nothing else. I nod. "Tonight," I say. "Before dawn."

It is done. The assault has been ordered. Many of my boys will die, many of the elephants and apes as well. My stomach clenches and my hands tremble. It is suicide, yet none of the faces waver.

I walk to the center of the assembly. "Okay, hear me. Tonight is the night we've waited for. Tonight, we will go and destroy the invaders to our land."

The boys cheer. The men salute.

"Fool," D'Arnot mutters, but he is ignored.

I speak. "Your lieutenants have your orders. Now mount your elephants, load your weapons, and may God or whatever spirits you believe in guide you to safety. Tonight will live in African history forever. For Africa!"

"For Africa!"

I run to Tantor. He's our battering ram. We've had him knocking down trees, ripping apart whatever we can lash together. I hope he's up to destroying the palisade. I load precious bullets into my Colt. Tonight, it shall be fired.

We split into three columns: two elephantry columns to smash the camp, and one column to set the ambush. We'll charge the elephants through a gauntlet, and destroy any pursuers.

By morning, Africa will be free, or we will be dead.

#

Do I ever regret the decisions I make in Africa? I certainly do spend nights second-guessing myself. What if I had simply raided the Lost City for its gold and bought John's freedom? What if I had never allowed him to court me? What if my heart wasn't so fickle? Despite my current speculation, everything seemed clear at the time, but now, I sit and wonder. It is my curse, I suppose. But in that moment, I feel the decision, although hard, had to be made. We had no choice but to fight. I would never abandon John to his fate.

Our column creeps up on the relatively unprotected northern flank of the camp. Well, I guess it's hard to "creep up" on anything upon elephants, but we arrive within striking distance with no sign that we've been spotted. I call my column to a halt. We don't have torches lit, but we've fashioned braziers to light torches when ready. Only flickering watch fires from camp are visible, that and the starry expanse of the African sky. Like the rest, I've donned dark clothing, covered my face and hair with black mud so I almost look native.

I stand up on Tantor, D'Arnot's sitting in front of me and Sabu behind. I draw a few deep breaths, stretching my lungs. From deep inside, I draw on my angst, my misery, my pain of being separated from John, every bit of hurt from my long march, and the fear that we might all die in the coming minutes.

I fill my lungs, and sound my war howl.

"Aaaaaaaoooooeoeoeoooooooooeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeaeaaaaaa aaaoaoaoaoooooo!"

The boys echo it as best they can as I charge Tantor toward the wall. The three of us brace ourselves as best we can as the monster lumbers up the hill. The palisade looms in our faces, fifteen feet high of lumber. I don't know what Tantor will do. He may stop and refuse to attack, thinking the wall is solid. He might throw us off.

Something in the gushing of air from his mouth and trunk tell me that Tantor has one thing on his mind: destruction.

Just as we reach the wall, Tantor lowers his shoulder and slams into the fence, splintering it in an instant. Wood pieces fly everywhere, but a huge section simply falls inward like a ramp leading to a ship. In seconds, we're into the compound.

All around me, the apes led by Kerchak bound through the gash or literally leap over the wall, their teeth bared.

"Attack!" I cry. To show the boys I mean business, I fire my Colt at a shadow.

The Brits may not have known what the howl and the crashing were from, but they're sure to know the sound of a revolver. Gunfire crackles all around me. Whistles blow.

The boys dip their tar-coated arrows into the braziers and launch flaming projectiles into every thatch hut in sight. Brits in their skivvies run into the narrow passages and receive a tusk to their chests for their troubles.

I find a small sheltered area where Sabu lets us drop from Tantor onto the ground. Screams and shouts fill the night, coupled with savage growls and angry trumpeting. Columns of flame tower into the sky. The elephants charge every moving object whether friend or foe, man or ape in their mad rage. A soldier charges us and I fire, the gun bucking in my hand. The man falls on his face. I stare at the corpse.

"We need a prisoner," says D'Arnot. "Right now."

The corpse lays still. One of my boys runs past me. A soldier runs him through with a bayonet. I shoot the soldier.

"Porter! Prisoners!"

I gather myself, shoving cartridges into my Colt, trying desperately about the lives ending around me, forcing the bile back down my throat. "Sabu! Catch some prisoners, bring them to me here."

Sabu waves and leads Tantor off. I clutch my revolver tight, wishing I could see more of the struggle, glad I cannot. My weapon shakes in my hand.

"We don't have much time," says D'Arnot. "Maybe a minute until they muster full resistance."

I hear actual trumpets sound from the far end of camp, a battle bugle, followed by a volley of rifle shots. The ground rumbles and three men, barely clothed, stumble in, followed by Sabu on Tantor. The elephant knocks them in the head and they fall before me.

"Two elephants down," Sabu says. "Many dead."

My heart clenches but I cast the thought aside. I address the captives. "Where is Tarzan?"

The men look blank, unbelieving. I fire in the air next to their heads. "John Clayton! Where do they hold him?"

The jabber on about some building.

"Where?"

They point.

I don't even ask D'Arnot to follow, but I sprint through rolling smoke, jump over fallen men and dying apes, and spot the building, guarded by nervous looking soldiers, shooting at everything.

Sabu follows on Tantor.

"There," I say. "John is in there. Rifle fire only, get your team on it."

Sabu and Tantor gallop off. Shots ping the structures nearby. I huddle with D'Arnot next to a wooden column. "If Sabu can take out the guards, I'll order the retreat while we get John."

Rifles crackle and John's guards tumble to the ground. Another volley sounds, and an elephant staggers into the square and drops, crushing his riders.

I catch Sabu's gaze from atop Tantor, almost lost in the rolling smoke from the hut fires. Acrid smoke assaults my senses, forcing tears from my eyes. "Retreat! Get everyone to the ambush site., Go! Go!"

Blood leaks from a dozen wounds on Tantor's side, but I hope none are life-threatening. He's still with us, for now, brave beast. I have yet to spot Minnie with Essie and Zana, so I hope they're far from this hell.

Our elephants head back toward the breach in the wall. The camp fills with shouts. Just as we hoped, the British assemble their infantry and cavalry units and set off in pursuit.

The camp quiets except for the screams of the injured and baying of beasts. A few shots ring out and the beasts are quiet. I nearly vomit.

We cross the square, hiding behind dead elephants and running through swirls of smoke. Maybe half the buildings are up in flame, and the remaining men are busy trying to put them out.

I step over the dead men in the doorway, trying not to look at their distorted faces. My Colt is cocked and ready. Inside, a small oil lamp is still flickering. "John! John!"

"Here," says a weak voice.

I grab the lamp and race down the hall and find John in a room. He's lashed all fours to a wooden frame, his body covered with the marks of torture.

"My knife," he says. "Over there."

D'Arnot finds the long blade in a drawer and goes to work on the bonds. I stand there helpless, suddenly not knowing what to do.

"I knew you would come," says John to D'Arnot. "I never lost faith."

"I will always watch over you, John," says D'Arnot.

I step forward. "Wait. John? This is all my operation."

The first bonds snap and John's arm falls forward, lifeless. He swallows a scream.

"She was a great help, _mon ami_," says D'Arnot. "But I think the child has a great imagination."

I should shoot the Frenchmen right here and now. "What? This man tried to stop me at every turn. He beat me with a stick. He made me reveal your assault on the Blackroot. John, _he tried to rape me._"

Another arm loose. John grimaces and holds his wrists. "Is this true?"

D'Arnot shrugs. "How can you believe a girl who has sold the very necklace you gave her, and promised to share your secret treasure with the Blackroot? John, I'm sorry. You would have found out she's delusional sooner or later. She suffers from madness."

John's foot comes free and he falls to one knee.

I clasp my hands. D'Arnot's treachery knows no limits. "Please, John, you must believe me. D'Arnot is the madman. I have done everything I can to rescue you. The fact that I'm here in the midst of this carnage should prove that."

The last cord parts and John tumbles onto the floor, his breath keening in his throat.

"What deviltry is this?" he breathes, his eyes staring between us.

D'Arnot crouches next to my love. "John, you have known me for years. I wanted her to come so you could see for yourself. She's a lying manipulative trollop who seeks your fortune and lands for herself, for her lord Science. She has no honor, no morals. Do not let her pretty face hide her lies."

John forces himself to his knees, rubbing his legs.

I kneel next to him, opposite D'Arnot. "John, I love you more than anything. Yes, I gave my necklace to mercenaries, in hopes they would assist in your rescue. We never heard from them. I'm sorry, I know how much it meant to you, but I would never betray you. If there's anyone in this room who has betrayed you, it's D'Arnot. He told the British I knew where to find you, but he didn't even have the guts to betray you himself. He is nothing but a weak, bitter coward who strikes women. He is the betrayer."

"You shut up."

"You don't frighten me, you French potato."

D'Arnot slaps me clean across the mouth. I tumble into a wall and fall on my face.

But before his hand even leaves my mouth, John is upon him, throwing him up against the wall, his strength suddenly restored.

"There is one way to be sure," says John, the muscles in his arms straining. "Before the attack started, I heard a sound like a banshee. Whoever throated that sound was the one behind it, for the sound rode on spirits and summoned the forest to wake, to defend. It is a sound only a true heart can command. Was it you, '_mon ami_'?" He pushes D'Arnot hard, making the wood behind him creak.

"It was me," I say. "It comes from my love for you, from my desire to see you free once more. It sent the elephants into a frenzy."

"It is the howl of a lunatic!" cries D'Arnot.

John shoves D'Arnot. "You are my friend. That is why you still live. But if you ever strike a woman again, for any reason, I shall find you and deliver the lashes in a manner you shall never forget. Now begone. Go!"

D'Arnot's pleas die on his lips and he hustles out of the room.

John collapses onto his knees again and I rush to his side, putting my hands under his arms.

"No, no." He waves me off. He tries to rise. "Okay, just this once."

I lift him up. He turns to me and we embrace, tears flooding my eyes. "I came for you, John. Many have died to make this possible, are still dying as we speak. And yes, there is truth in what D'Arnot say—the British did force things from my lips, but D'Arnot told them I that had your confidence. I beg you to forgive me."

I turn from my love, afraid he will hate me for what I did, for surrendering the pendant, for leading the British to his capture.

His hand captures my shoulder, and lifts my chin so our gazes meet. "When this over, I shall seek him out. There is a blackness in his heart that he must conquer, but I fear the blackness has won. If it cannot be fought, it will be dispatched. But right now, we have a much more important issue to address."

With a quick motion, he sweeps me into my arms, and we kiss, my arms wrapped around his neck, and every fear fades, every self-doubt is conquered. I am with my love, and nothing else matters.

A second later, he almost drops me, but I land on my feet.

"I have not been well-kept," he mumbles, almost in shame.

I throw my arms around his neck again and kiss his neck, his face, his lips, then hug him tight. "I shall remedy that. But John, we are in the center of a hostile camp. We have laid an ambush for the pursuing troops, but many remain. We must flee, but how?"

John grabs his knife and looks at me with fire in his eyes. "If we cannot go around them, we shall go straight through them."

I grab my Colt, reloading the chambers with the last of my bullets. "Ready when you are."

#

John's method of escape involves jumping across the roofs of the huts. He stops every so often, motions me to wait, and jumps down. Sometimes I hear a shout, but more often, it's a gargled cry. He reappears, his knife and arms dripping with fresh blood.

"They should have killed me when they had the chance," he says. "Only cowards use torture, and do not deserve to live."

I shiver but I don't question him. The fewer British right now, the better.

"Any knowledge of my father's whereabouts?"

"This camp has become strictly military. He's mostly like back at the base camp along the shore."

We spring over the broken outer wall, land on the grasses, and sprint into the darkness, dodging shadows and eluding corpses. We're soon comfortably up in the trees. I find a nice notch for John to rest in and set to gathering fruits for him, no simple task in the night. Shouting and shooting echoes in the distance. John eats greedily.

After he is sated, he motions to the food. Although not hungry, I have a few myself. "Come," he says, his face draped in shadow.

I nestle into the crook of his arm, savoring his warmth. "Yes, my love."

"Please, I must know the truth, all of it, about what you've done, about D'Arnot."

I speak to him while my hand strokes the fine hair on his chest. He kisses my head. He listens to it all, not commenting, even through my depiction of D'Arnot's cruelty.

At the end, he says, "you fought for Africa, to keep this land pristine, as a home for the animals?"

"All my life I've studied these animals from afar, only seeing either preserved specimens or drawings. The ones in zoos are far different from those in the wild. I know now that captivity turns them into wild animals. Out here, they are calm except when confronted by man. I want to turn this place, with your blessing of course, into a preserve, where people like me and my father can study them in their natural habitat, without disturbing their lives in the least."

John hugs me. "A noble cause."

"Oh, and John…I talked to Mams."

"Oh. Ohhh. And?"

I kiss his chest. "She likes me. I don't understand why she thinks we're opposites."

"If we are opposites, then we are the best kind of opposites."

He lifts my chin and kisses my lips.

A volley of frantic gunfire erupts in the distance.

"The ambush! How could I forget?"

We rush through the trees, but John is so weak he nearly falls, so we're resigned to travel along the ground. After a prolonged exchange of shooting, a hush pervades the forest.

We take to the trees right outside the ambush area. I hear British voices and my heart sinks.

Below us lies what can only be described as carnage. Dead Waziri boys and tribesmen mingle with carcasses of elephants and apes. Everyone single Waziri and Sushani tribesman is dead. I try to count the bodies but there are too many and the light from the fading British torches too fleeting. There are British bodies in there as well, confounding the process.

I feel John's body tense, hear the anguish in his breath.

"I'm sorry," I whisper. "These are—were—your friends." To see death like this—my heart trembles.

John's jaw clenches but he says nothing.

The tree shudders beneath us. I draw my Colt and John raises his knife.

"Sssh," says a voice.

"Sabu?"

"Come," he says.

I can't see him in the darkness but I appreciate the bravery it took to climb up here in the night. I have no idea how he found us.

Sabu leads us away. In a clearing lit by a dim torch we spot them, two lone elephants. Tantor, riddled with bullet holes but still standing, and Minnie. Both their heads hang low. Kerchak sits on the ground, alone, no other apes in sight, his head nestled on his arm. He eyes us but does not rise. Numa the lion lies near, alive but unmoving.

"Jane!" Esmeralda runs to me, followed by Zana. "We tried, we really did, but Minnie got spooked and high-tailed into the forest."

I hug both of them. "Bless Minnie. It was a slaughter."

"Are there any others?" John asks Sabu.

Sabu shakes his head. I notice oozing wounds on his arms. "None I have seen."

John's head falls as he and Sabu discuss their losses. He leans on the boy for support. His face churns with emotion, with agony. His friends—ape, elephant, and human—are dead.

I fall to my knees.

We have lost. Everything we have fought for, gone. "What have I done? Sabu, Zana, I am so sorry. I thought we could defeat them, I really did." I cannot face them.

John's hand rubs my neck. "No, Jane. Those boys came here and fought like men, honoring their tribe forever."

I push his hand away. "No. I have destroyed an entire generation of young men. The Waziri will never recover from this loss. I'm stupid and selfish. So many lives gone, so many. John, can you say your life is worth all of theirs?"

"Is that what this fight is about, Jane? Better them die free men than live their lives as slaves. Has your own American Revolution and Civil War taught you nothing? We all know the British are capable of terrible deeds. We have no choice but to fight. My imprisonment is a minor detail in the greater struggle."

He's right, and I know it, but can that really justify so many deaths? I look up into his gray eyes. "Maybe if we had waited for reinforcements, a larger force, more training. Something. I knew all this before we attacked, knew what long odds we had. I did this, John. I made the choices. I gave the orders. They are all dead because of me. And the worst thing? I _knew_ they would die, and I did it anyways, even though D'Arnot warned me. I have not _saved_ your life, I have _ruined_ it." My soul collapses from agony.

I hop up and sprint into the woods as fast as my feet will carry me. I can't stand to see my fellow warriors. John's freedom is poor consolation for all the deaths, the flower of the Waziri. D'Arnot was right. How can I face their parents? How can I face myself?

I run and run until I trip. I tumble down into a steep ravine and splash into a deep pool of water. In the darkness of night, I can't tell up from down, so I thrash and struggle until my lungs are about to burst.

Something grabs me and I scream underwater. It pulls me up to the surface and I cling to John, shaking and trembling, gasping for air. He draws me to the shore.

"Jane."

My hand pushes his chest, water dripping everywhere. "No, no! Don't save me. I don't deserve any of this!" But instead of shoving him away, I cling to him, sobs filling my throat. He kisses my forehead.

"I've ruined everything," I gasp. "I don't deserve your love."

His strong arms enclose me and still the shivers that wrack my body. He holds me forever, rocking gently, until the first light of dawn touches the eastern sky. The heat of his body envelopes me, soothes me, but I need him closer. I kiss his neck, his shoulder, taste the salt on his skin. His strong hands hold me, pull me close so our bodies merge together.

My soaked, woven Waziri cloak drags on me, keeps me from his touch, so I step back. He helps me pull the sodden mass off, and I stand naked before my love. We hang the mess on a nearby branch. John pulls down some large leaves and lays them on the ground. He pulls off his loincloth, and we stand like Adam and Eve in the Garden of Eden, except we're wounded, hurting.

He reaches out and takes my hands, a face grave as he gazes across my dawn-lit body. I look at his, strong, virile, with both old and new scars.

We embrace, his lips covering mine. I release his hands and wrap my arms around his neck.

"Please," I say in his ear. I want him to give me his pain, his suffering, to sow his grief into me, to unleash his rage of his loss.

John's arms lift me from the ground, and he gently lowers me to our jungle bed. He kisses my lips, my neck, my breasts, to my belly and below. I pull his head back up, desire and guilt burning my soul. I need more than his kisses, more than his touch. As a blood-red dawn fills the sky, I look in his eyes, seeing his own fear, his own desire, his own madness.

John enters me. It hurts, but no more than the ache in my soul. But instead of pain, instead of torment, his gives me something that splits my soul in burning pieces, something that rips the agony from my heart.

He gives me his love, fierce, passionate, yet kind. Despite the blood that still stains his arms, I learn that in his heart, John is a gentle creature. I open myself to him, pull his body into mine.

Our bodies move together; gasps and moans and finally cries leap from my throat. When John explodes inside me, my world unravels and I experience bliss. I have changed. I am his, he is mine, and nothing else in the world matters. No pain exists in that moment, only love, only the ashes of our souls mingling together.

I hold him as he lays upon me, his gasps ringing in my ears. I whisper, "I love you."

"I love you," he replies. "Now and forever."

He rolls off me, the sweat cool where his body has lain. He lays on his back and soon emits sighs of sleep, perhaps the first good slumber he's had in weeks.

I nestle my head in the crook of his arm and pray that this moment will never end, that I'll never have to face what I've done.

#

We sleep until afternoon. I gather some breakfast, wandering the jungle stark naked. I catch my reflection in a still section of the stream. A wild creature looks back, yet I see a light in my face that has been missing for weeks. I clean myself as best I can, and adorn my hair with fresh flowers that resemble hibiscus in their scent. John's awake when I return, but before we eat, we make love again, filling the forest with cries of passion. This time I'm not so sore, and I think I actually enjoy more than just the ending. John has no complaints, his face a fascinating sequence of passions; his body strains as if he wrestles a lioness. I wish to stay connected with him forever like this, his body inside mine, but our companions await.

We wash ourselves in the river afterwards, clean our clothes as best we can, and return to Esmeralda and company, keeping careful watch for signs of the British.

Esmeralda's eyebrow raises when she sees us holding hands, and even more so the silly grin I wave on my face. Maybe John has one too. "Well, if ain't two bush-happy weasels," she says.

"We are married," I announce, raising John's arm in unity. "Maybe not officially, but it is all over but the ceremony. You may now call me Madam Clayton, Lady Greystoke. Although I imagine the British may strip you of your title, dear husband."

"Let them try. I shall conquer all of England."

I squeeze his hand and catch the merriment in his face. I look to Sabu, whose arms and forehead are wrapped with bloody makeshift bandages. "Any sign of survivors?"

"I searched around at first light," said Sabu, his face stripped of emotion. "I count only ten Waziri dead. More may have died in the camp or been captured alive. Hard to know if any escaped."

John and I spend the afternoon in a fruitless search for tracks. There are many leading in all directions so we're hopeful, but in the end, we don't find a single survivor. We return to our makeshift camp.

"What we do now?" asks Esmeralda.

I sigh, dreading this question.

"I've learned my lesson. I will have no more deaths on my conscience. We'll return to what's left of the Waziri and lead them away, maybe go elsewhere. If you want to return to America, we may have to go to Egypt to find a safe port."

"Wait—I thought you spoked that _this_ was our home now."

Her words slice me like a tiger's fang. "Our home is lost. The British turned us away as if we were a wisp on the wind."

"Jane." John grips my hand and turns me to him. His eyes are like burning ice. "We have not lost. There is a law in this jungle. Either kill, or be killed. If we are alive, then we have not lost."

Bless John and his easy naivety. "Oh, your rescue notwithstanding, we have most certainly lost. We are but two men, three women, two injured elephants, a limping lion, and a depressed ape against a garrison that is sure to be prepared and furious."

"You told me you envisioned the entire jungle against the British, that all of Africa would stand against their aggression."

Heat rises to my face and I stare at the ground. "Yes, but that was just a foolish girl's dream. I could barely unite the Waziri. I've learned my lesson. There's no fighting them. We're too weak, and too many good men have died. I refuse to be a party to any more deaths. No, John, we must run. Let the British have their damn land."

"Yes." John smiles and lays a hand on my shoulder. "Many good men and animals, some of whom I called brother, have perished. The British are indeed fierce, their weapons cunning. They have raised an almost insurmountable force."

John looks upon me. "But this is my land. This is my home. These are my people. They have sacrificed everything for me, and I will do no less for them. Kill, or be killed. I still live. I can yet kill. While I breathe, I shall fight. I shall summon the full force that you have only barely begun to stir."

His giant chest heaves a breath, and he kneels before me. "Last night has decided things for me. If this is the land we bequeath to our children, then we shall not start our lives in fear, on the run, as cowards. We will attack again, at dawn tomorrow. Jane, the woodland spirit within you has only just awakened. Mine is fully mature, and full of rage. Be here, and prepare yourself for the assault."

John runs and jumps into the trees.

I try to chase him. "Wait! I don't want this. No more blood!"

He's gone, and we hear no word from him the entire day.

I spend a fitful night missing John more than I ever have before, so much my body shakes.


	13. Chapter 12

Chapter Twelve

A hand touches me and I bolt awake.

"John."

We kiss. If the others weren't nearby, we'd do more. I'll never tire of John, although I have trouble picturing him as an old, wrinkled man. I hope we live long enough to deal with that problem.

"Any luck?" I ask.

He presses my hand. His eyes sparkle. "We'll see."

We wake the others. "Go," says John to Sabu. "This is not your battle any longer, only for me and my wife. Take them to safety. Take the Waziri to the Lost City. Help Tantor heal and find new mates, locate a new tribe for Kerchak."

Sabu nods. I hug the girls and wish them well. After they depart, I turn to John. "And now?"

He takes my hand in his, determination writ across his features. "You and I shall defeat the British and drive them from our soil."

I know it's an impossible dream, and we shall be dead by nightfall. But what's unspoken is our knowledge that the only way the British or any other foreign country can take Africa is by prying it from our cold, dead hands. Kill or be killed. Ask no quarter. Spare no one. When I look into John's eyes, I somehow believe that victory is possible. I don't even debate it internally—if he is bent on destruction, I shall stand by his side until the end.

We head to the British camp, walking hand-in-hand as lovers may do at your local arboretum or flower garden. I inhale the scents of exotic blossoms, watch brightly colored insects and birds flit about, listen to the calls of monkeys and frogs and tree birds. My heart should be paralyzed with fear, but for some reason, it is light and full of hope. I head to my death with nothing but love in my soul. Nothing highlights the beauty of life as much as your impending doom.

We walk up the hill to the camp, through the cleared area where grasses and weeds fight to reclaim the land. A squad of men raise their rifles at us. I wonder if they even know who we are, such was the confusion of the nighttime attack.

John stops. "We wish to talk to your commanding officer on an urgent matter." The sun shimmers his dark hair.

"Drop your knife. Drop your revolver."

We do as commanded. A runner is sent into the camp. I look up at John, sighing at how the sun profiles his strong features. We wait, trickles of sweat creeping down our backs, flies flitting about.

Captain Mann appears in the palisade's gate and scoffs when he sees us. "Seize them."

"Wait!" says John holding up his hand.

I hear the ominous clicks of rifles being cocked.

John speaks so all can hear. "As a concession to your so-called laws of civilization, I have come to issue a final warning. Leave Africa at once, or by nightfall, not one of you will be breathing."

A thrill runs up my spine. I squeeze his hand. We are to die in moments, but John's defiance is exceptional. Captain Mann smiles solicitously and wipes his face with a hankie. He steps toward us. "I only see two of you. How do you plan to accomplish this?"

Tarzan puts his hands to his mouth.

"Aaaaaaoeoeoeaaaaaaoeoeoeaaaaaa!"

The men stand and point their rifles to the forest. I look back. Two elephants burst from the treeline, Tantor and Minnie, followed by Kerchak, and finally Sabor, the lion. So much for keeping Essie, Zana, and Sabu safe, as they are riding the elephants. Despite the danger, my heart grows even bolder.

Mann chuckles. "Really? Two limping elephants?"

I note a mischievous smile on John's face.

My love turns to me. "Dear, why don't you give it a go?"

"Of course, my darling."

I turn to the forest. "Aaaaaaaoooooooaoaoaoeeeeeeaoaoaoaooaaaaaaaaaaaaa! "

I almost swallow my tongue when about a hundred elephants push through the forest edge. Up above them hang an equal number of apes. Sabor is joined by a whole pride of lions.

Captain Mann raises a hand, stalling any attack. "Animals? You saw how easily they were turned away, and I assure you, without the element of surprise, you'll find our marksmen will pick them off before they come within a hundred yards of our walls."

John catches my hand again, the smile still on his face. "Perhaps, we should try together. Jane?"

We draw a breath, full of hope and pride and love and madness.

"Aaaaaaeeeeeaaeoooooiieieieioooooooieieioeaaaaaaoo oeoeooeeiiiiaaayayayaaa!"

Men stream from the forest, Blackroot, Waziri, other tribes, hundreds, thousands, some mounted on horses or elephants, armed with guns and rifles and spears.

Mann's casual smile dies. "Defensive positions! Kill them! Kill them!"

Before they can get off a shot, John sweeps me off my feet like I'm a ragdoll and sprints from the men at an impossible speed, hopping from stump to stump. Bullets ping all around us but in seconds, we're hidden by the curve of the hill.

A horseman gallops up to us. Zule, his horse draped with wicked rifles and spears.

He drops from the horse, sends it on its way, and lies next to us. "Sorry we were late. Incorrigible Blackroot."

I catch his arm. "My Chief, we were routed. Only Sabu and Zana survived."

He catches mine. "Any one of our village would give our lives gladly for John. It grieves me that so many had to die, but we shall wreak our revenge. What are your orders?"

For a second I believe he's asking John, but then I realize his gaze is on me.

I'm their leader now. I led the first assault. I know what we face. I swallow and compose myself, trying to look and act leader-like before this fierce warrior. I look to Zule.

"I want the soldiers gone. I prefer prisoners over deaths, men we can stuff in boats and send home like whipped dogs. Spare the officers if you can. If anyone can accurately convey the horror that is Africa, they will. Now, here's what I know." I use sticks and dirt to draw the layout of the camp while the forest thunders with cannons and rifle fire. Waziri marksmen are pounding the palisade, picking off the snipers, but I already see animals stumbling and falling, men tumbling to their deaths.

"Very well." Zule uses hand signals and a pocket mirror to relay instructions to his troops.

What happens next I hesitate to think about, let alone write. I'm in the center of a communications hub, and Essie, Zana, and Sabu are my runners, bringing messages across the battlefield at the risk of their own hides. I hope Essie speaks better Waziri than English. John and Zule are out there, leading the charges, rallying the troops.

We attack the walls again and again, only to be repelled. Elephants cannot get close enough to attempt a breach. Dead animals litter the field, the poor things. Slowly, we pick off the men from their guard towers. When we finally rupture the wall, and the fighting is fierce. Man versus man, man versus beast, the carnage is unfathomable. I must turn my head at times, but when I look, it is John and Zule engaging the British with swords, spears, or their teeth. I'll admit that the Brits are quite brave, neither turning tail nor conceding an inch without exacting a heavy toll.

Despite their resistance, we do not waver. By late afternoon, the camp is ours. The men cheer and shoot rifles into the air.

The surviving British officers are herded in a central square and forced to their knees, hands tied behind their backs. Blood drips from innumerable wounds on both friend and foe. None of the combatants question my authority. I walk up to Mann who stares at the ground, defeated, shamed. I wait for his gaze to move from my bare feet, up to my gun belt, my Waziri cloak, and finally to meet my eyes.

"Do you now surrender to the Waziri Alliance?" I had to come up with some name for my army.

He speaks without conviction. "I will not surrender to a girl. Only an officer."

"We are now married, have you not heard? I am Lady Greystoke, and as a member of the royal peerage, that should suffice."

Mann looks at me with eyes full of disgust, pulling courage from somewhere despite the dozen rifles aimed at his neck. "There is nothing British about you. You are an American strumpet, unfit to clean the streets of Britain."

John moves to strike him but I hold up my hand to John.

"Yes, perhaps I am not. But I would not lower myself to piss on Britain's streets. We are not in Britain now, sir, not even in America. We are in Africa, and here, I am the goddamn queen of the continent, so you should address me thus. Now, shall there be a surrender? Or must there be an awful execution."

Mann shakes his head. He heaves his shoulders. His gaze finally leaves mine. "Very well. We surrender. What is our fate, oh great queen?"

I smile. Yeah, I know, I'm getting heady with power. I neither want nor deserve the title. 'Professor' is the only title I truly want, but this one will have to suffice for now until I can resume my quest for the other.

"You shall be sent from our shores, but you cannot keep one iota of goods that you have gathered, except scientific research. Even then, _no live specimens, _and no dead ones either save for insects. We shall search the boats. And one last thing."

I swipe a hair from my eyes. "I want you to talk to your 'queen'. Tell her that the Queen of the Jungle has a message for her: _Fuck off_."

With that I turn from them. "Get them out of my sight. Your queen is tired, and I think a victory feast is in order." Yes, I referred to myself in the third person.

It's a long few days of burying bodies, burning the dead animals, patching up the wounded, and gathering the belongings of those who perished on both sides to send back to their next of kin, but I order all of it, and they comply. My "Victory Feast" is some tough bushbuck strips that I gag on.

At night, I lie nestled in my lover's arms, unable to sleep from all the images of horrible death that haunt my dreams. I pray that we never get invaded again.

#

We head to the coast, prisoners in tow. The coastal camp is captured without a single shot fired. We send boarding parties to each ship and release every living animal they have captured. The collections are tossed overboard, mostly mounted hunting trophies, but we let them keep notes and drawings and certain insects.

Turns out the Blackroot are easily paid for their services. Instead of letting them loot the coffers of the Lost City, they gleam at the prospect of ships. We hand them four and keep two, one to sail to America, the other headed for England, the most seaworthy. I do worry that the Blackroot will mostly likely turn to piracy, but it's good to know we may have a navy when needed. Thankfully, they return my necklace.

My father waits for me in a hut, by himself, once we have concluded all our business by putting the British officers on their ship and ensuring that it departs our little harbor. I do confirm they have more than enough provisions to reach the next port. I'm merciless, but I'm not cruel.

"Father." I enter his tent. I am still furious from his betrayal, from his attempts to control me. I don't think I've ever felt this distant from a person, let alone a blood relation. His face is drawn, and his hands tremble a bit. His hair is more wispy than ever. "Are you well?"

He shakes his head, his gaze avoiding mine. A chasm ripples between us. "This trip has been an unmitigated disaster. I never want to set foot upon this continent again."

"I need to tell you some things. May we sit?" I motion to the chairs. The tension's so thick it's like a branch about to snap. We sit around a rough table. I clear my throat, wanting to simply state what I need to and leave. "I have married John Clayton." I wait for his reaction.

He swallows and fingers a notch in the table. "Married?" It's less of a question than a statement. My feet wish to flee the room but I stay put.

"Yes. We may need a minister to make it official, but we have pledged ourselves to each other. It is done."

"And you have…?" He waves at me.

I fold my arms across my chest. "Consummated? Yes. We are husband and wife."

Dad shakes his head. I wish he would just look at me. "You were always so willful. Never could tell you no. You are only seventeen, a girl, a child. How could you understand—"

He finally glances up. For the first time in ages, our eyes meet.

"No," he says, squinting slightly. "No, you are no child, are you. Perhaps your body is not completely mature, but your mind, your thought processes…" He sighs. "You have been an adult for a long time. Perhaps since…"

Ever since my mother took her own life, I grew up as quickly as I could. My childhood ended that day. I just didn't know it until this moment.

"And now you are married, to a jungle man."

"He is no jungle _man_. He is King of the Jungle. And I am Queen. We will dedicate our lives to preserving the untouched, savage nature of this land. That is what our marriage is about. We want to create a vast preserve where people can come and study without disturbing the creatures and plants within. A giant zoological park if you will, but without cages."

Dad studies me like a specimen. "Yes, no child, but still with a young person's hopes and dreams."

We sit in silence. This conversation seems at an impasse. I move to leave, but he waves me down.

He rubs his hands together. His eyes grow vacant, lost in memories. "I need to tell you some things, some important things, that I never shared with anyone. About your mother."

I'm not sure I want to hear this, to revisit old wounds, but I sit and bid him to continue.

He stares at the ground. "Your mother and I, things were not easy. Yes, at first things were, when we fell in love. I was a lonely professor, she was a young, talented college student. Like you, but different, brilliant in her own way. There was a thrill because we kept our love a secret so she could stay in my class. A mistake, I admit. We were indeed opposites, I a lab rat, dedicated to my studies. She was a social butterfly, insisting we spend much time visiting friends and hosting our own parties. She became the darling of Baltimore.

"We married as you did, without her parents' consent. From the start, we had issues with…marital relations. She finally confessed the issue: when she was young, she was touched by men in her family, in ways she could not bear to discuss, even within the intimacy of marriage. When you came along things grew much worse, and she took to sleeping in her own room. We acted like a happy couple, but we were anything but. You became everything to her, and she was viciously protective of her lest something terrible occur. We stopped going to parties, hosting them, and she became just a hollow version of herself, vacant, fearful of strangers instead of inviting.

"After a number of years, she finally returned to my bed, whether out of love, loneliness, or the simple desire to create another child. But we never shared the passion, only the mechanicals of it. One day she came to me, crying, distraught. She said while shopping a man tried to grab you. Fortunately, a police officer heard her screams and captured the man before he could steal you away.

"We spent a lot of time talking after that. She told me everything, about how shamed she was by her molesters. We began to bond again, take walks together, see concerts, host friends, make love with passion. I thought all that was behind us. Then one day, she was gone. Something happened, and she couldn't bear to live any longer."

I grab father's hand, tears streaming down our faces. I remember the incident, but always thought the man accidently thought I was his own daughter. Now I shiver to think that his intent was evil. My mind swirls from father's statements.

"There's more," he says. "I went through her papers, after her death. I was confused at first, because much of it was done in a different hand, as if she had transcribed parts, but the words were not hers. I thought she might have been sick during those times. I then came across an entry where she spoke of the voices, of the other people who lived in her head. I then realized the truth—your mother suffered from a severe form of dementia where she believed others inhabit her body. Don't you see, Jane, that when you come to me with your stories, how I worry that you have your mother's illness, that you cannot perceive reality from the imaginations of your mind?"

I spring from my seat. "What? You think my mind is unsound? After all my studies and achievements, you doubt my very sanity?" I stand, ready to bolt. "Yes, I may have made certain choices out of love, an emotion I've had little experience with. But to question my very sanity—I cannot tolerate.

"Jane, you come here surrounded by cutthroats and murderers. You speak of impossible things, of conquests, of marriage to some ape man. This is not you! Something in the air or water has affected you, much in the way your mother was suffering. Please, let me take you home before it is too late. You may have contracted brain worms or worse. You are not yourself"

I speak low and even. "Father, I am not afflicted by any disease worse than what led you to marry my mother. I assure you that my mind is most sound, perhaps more so with all the knowledge I've gathered. I demand that you recognize me as such, and reinstate me into my program at once, or I will speak to several department heads about your conduct upon this expedition."

My heart is in my throat. I don't remember ever directly confronting my father like this, but after defeating the British, I have gained a certain level of fortitude.

"What will you do, Jane? Build an army in Baltimore? Burn down Johns Hopkins from the backs of horses if your thesis is rejected? No. These are not the actions of stable mind. You shall not bully me. I cannot in good conscience recommend that you be allowed to seek tenure."

My nails sink into my palms. Father understands nothing about what we've accomplished here. "Then we are done."

I leave, but tears quickly fill my face. I keep hoping he will come and chase me, explain how this is all a mistake, but he remains in his hut.

#

John and I are "officially" married along the beach, near the treehouse John's father built. We feel the spirits of his parents inhabit the area. We arrive in opposite directions by elephant to the small flower-festooned shelter. John is regaled in the finest warrior gear of the Waziri, with golden armbands, his hair combed and braided, and a new leather harness that holds his knife.

I'm outfitted in a gown made partly from material aboard the ship and rare silk the Waziri procured. I'm almost covered in flowers, which attracts a few curious bees.

It's been two weeks since we defeated the British with no sign of their return. As Queen of Africa, I order the remaining ship to stay until I have gathered enough material for my Master's thesis. This shall be sent back to America for publication along with a request that I be made adjunct professor on a temporary basis. I'm still hoping Father will come around.

Esmeralda is my bridesmaid, Zana the flower girl. Zule is John's best man. We've seen no sign of D'Arnot, although John confesses that he misses the man and wishes they could hash things out. I'm just glad he's gone, but I keep his tooth as a reminder. Father only stays for the ceremony, standing in back, then leaves as soon as it ends.

We exchange vows before many tribesmen, some coming from hundreds of miles away to attend what they're calling the greatest wedding in modern African history. They're all bedecked in their finest, beads and hoops and feathers and bones. I do wear my salamander necklace, and of course, John places the special ring on my finger that seals our marriage forever. Esmeralda has supplied the tea, and a wild time is enjoyed by all, even the apes.

We spend weeks on a grand honeymoon. John shows me all his collected knowledge of Africa, sharing treasures that make the Lost City pale by comparison, but these riches are not gold. They are vast waterfalls that stop the heart, flocks of hitherto unknown birds, great chasms in the earth where if you look down you can view the very fires of hell. And of course, I find a few of my special salamanders, caught in the act of shedding, and I write copious notes. In all this time, the bond between us becomes as strong as an elephant's tusk.

But as all great things must end, we find our way across plains and mountains and deserts back to the ship where they are in the final stages of loading for the long journey back to America.

I spend a few days collecting my materials and finishing my thesis. I've studied the land, and I realize that we are wrong to look at the planet as apes or elephants or even grasses. These are all parts of a bigger whole, something I'm calling an 'eco-system' (short for Ecological System). I hope the scientists back in America take this seriously and consider it for publication.

Let's face it, our planet is in peril. This British excursion will hardly be the last, and although their destruction will heal, it will have lasting effects on the local environment. I dread the day where we can no longer fend off encroachment by hordes of hungry nations, desperate to build farms and cities to support their burgeoning populations.

On departure day, I say goodbye to my father, who says little. He's determined to return to America and resume his studies. The ship's steward has promised to deliver my thesis into the right hands. We hold one final farewell feast with the other expeditioners, Robert, and Lord Dingy, and I stumble back to bed. Esmeralda's "tea" sure is getting strong, also I only had one small sip.

#

I wake in darkness. There must be a storm because the room sways and the trees creak. Something doesn't feel right.

I reach out with my fingers to feel cold wood. I'm on a ship, in a dark cabin. I find the porthole. All I see is ocean in the moonlight. The sounds aren't from a storm; it's an engine throbbing.

"No, no, no, no!"

I feel for the door. It's locked from the outside. "Hey. Hey!" I pound on it.

A voice speaks from beyond the timbers. "Stand clear!"

I hear fumbling in the door. A light reveals a gun. "Back! Back!"

I move away from the door. It opens to reveal Robert and a lamp.

"What the hell are you doing? What is going on?"

Robert smiles. "I told you that you would be mine."

Fear shoots through me like a panther's growl. "I'm married, you idiot."

"In an unholy ceremony. The church will never recognize it."

"Well, they have to."

"Why?"

I glare into the boy's eyes, I must get Essie to tone down her tea, because Robert's gone too far this time. I place my hands on my belly. "You moron. I'm pregnant!" A Waziri midwife broke the news to me after a morning when I thought I'd eaten some rotten bananas and been sickened. John panicked at first, but I patiently explained that all our nocturnal activities had fairly well-established consequences. Once he learned that we had nearly nine months to prepare and I was not on the cusp of exploding, he settled down.

Robert drops the tip of his gun. "You…"

"And whatever you doped me with could have harmed the fetus. Now get me off this ship and return me to my husband."

Robert smiles. "I'm afraid that's impossible."

"Why?"

"Pregnant or not, I have an agreement with you father. Now you will do exactly as I say or by the end of this voyage, all you'll be is corpse. Besides which, I don't think your man will want you back."

Rage simmers inside. Father is involved with my abduction? "Why is that? What have you done?"

"I left that jungle bully a little note, saying that after everything, you've decided to go back to America. You miss Baltimore and your old boyfriend too much. Don't worry, I said you thought he was a nice fling."

I prepare myself to grab his weapon and shove it down his throat. "Wait—you wrote the note in English?"

"Yeah."

"You dolt. John only reads French. He'll know it's not from me. He'll know something's wrong. I bet he's after us right now. Wait—did you hear that? I think he's here. John!"

Robert looks away. It's enough for me to grasp his gun and wrestle for it. The weapon detonates, almost puncturing my leg, and enough to certainly draw attention. By the time the crew arrives, I have Robert's head grasped between my legs, the gun pointed at it. Months in the trees gives one a certain strength.

#

After I threaten to shoot holes through the hull of the ship, we try to turn back, but a violent storm pushes us west, as if some giant hand of fate is determined to keep me from my love. I scream at the raging wind, howl my famous howl, shoot into the wind, but nothing sways it from blowing us across the map.

When it finally abates after three days, we're barely afloat, half-swamped with water, and the steam engine nearly ruined. By the time repairs are complete, we have not enough fuel to take me to Africa. I finally arrive in Baltimore as fall colors the leaves. Father and I still do not speak. I will not entertain his doubts about my sanity for a moment. Once home, I secure a small dormitory room to reside in, and have my belongings delivered.

My sole mementos of my trip to Africa, aside from my thesis and the life in my belly, are my necklace, my ring, and Lt. D'Arnot's molar which happened to be tucked into a pocket. I attached it to a hairpin, a reminder of everything I suffered through.

My thesis is duly accepted and is headed to publication after rigorous peer review and over my father's nonsensical objections. My belly begins to noticeably swell, fomenting all forms of hurtful gossip. I insist that I am married, flash my ring, but without the groom, my protests falls upon deaf ears. Only my cousin Edgar half-believes my story, although he insists that John should rescue me in the telling if I ever hope to publish it. I don't think he quite comprehends my resolve, but I have transcribed this journal for him to do as he sees fit.

One more thing.

Even as winter closes in with its snowy grip, I refuse to wear shoes. I cannot bear them, and throw them off as if they burn. The faculty begin to call me "Barefoot Jungle Girl" or worse—simply "Barefoot and Pregnant."

I have planned a return trip to Africa for the spring when the Atlantic is more humble. I hope to arrive on her shores before the birth of my child, so I can share the joy of his or her birth with John, although chances are good that I may deliver upon the voyage, so I plan to hire the best midwife we can.

I miss my animal friends dearly as well, and of course Essie, Zana and all the Waziri. I spend as much as my free time as I can at the zoo, frustrating the zookeepers with my inexplicable ability to simply walk into a cage with an enraged beast and calm him. I insist they keep their animals enclosed in small spaces as infrequently as possible, find certain animals that can co-habitate so we can combine their spaces into one larger space. But the profound sadness within their souls is withering. No animal is happy in captivity, least of all me, for my home is now a prison, keeping me from all that I love in the depths of a Maryland winter.

I keep busy by teaching classes to students older than I am, although the bulge in my belly encourages them to treat me with deference. I don't share much about Africa, about the battles we fought, or all the sacrifices we made. I only say to them that my husband is overseas, but always in my heart.

And so I look forward to the day when I can set eyes upon my love again, feel his strong hands on my shoulders, his kisses on my lips. One day I shall return to his side as Lady Greystoke, Queen of Africa.


	14. Afterword

Afterword

June 8, 1905

Baltimore, Maryland

Desk of Dr. Archimedes Porter

My Dearest Nephew Edgar,

That was certainly quite a tale. I write this as I set off in pursuit of my wayward daughter who has apparently stolen aboard some merchant vessel bound for Africa.

As you can see by the account you have just read, there is considerable question as to the state of Jane's mental faculties. To say that the rendering this story was "embellished" is quite an understatement. In fact, I have deep concerns that Jane might be in a total delusion state. Walking on trees? Conversing with animals? Leading a rebellion? A city full of gold? I saw the trinkets Jane claimed to have come from there…costume jewelry at best. Queen of Africa? It is the utmost fraud she is perpetuating. And this John Clayton fellow (not his real name)—there is no record of him or his parents in any peerage claims to the British Monarchy. Was that his fabrication or hers? I doubt he is of British descent at all. Most likely, he's some French ruffian with a dozen wives across the continent. I shall not have this man hurt Jane in her fragile state.

No. Now that I have seen the full depth of her delusions, I harbor serious fear that her mind has become unbalanced. It is quite prevalent in people with brilliant minds to become daft, unable to control the thoughts in their heads, and allowing imagination to become reality. I think her refusal to don footwear is a canonical example. She breaks down into hysterical shrieks whenever the subject of shoe-wearing is broached. It is beyond scandal.

What _is_ clear to me is that she obviously did have relations with that boy, who by all accounts and self-admittedly is a man prone to violence. I fear for her safety if she is to contact him again. He has the exceptionally ability to feed her delusions, to create beliefs that most sound minds would discard. Thank God I was able to convince our angel Robert Dingy to steal her away at the last moment, but the damage had already been done. I hold a great burden of blame on myself, and yet some of my peers claim that this form of madness can occur spontaneously, despite the best of parenting. I can't help feeling responsible for the events. My peers suggest that some great trauma befell her in Africa, beyond what is stated in her manuscript, destroying her capacity for reason, yet why would she willingly return to a place if it holds such terror?

I must mention that Jane is indeed a brilliant scientist, her works already drawing acclaim at certain scientific gatherings. My protests fall on deaf ears when I question the validity of her research, yet my peers appear to be fools, swallowing her drivel like she is indeed Queen of Africa. Far from it.

Now I must follow her. Childbirth and the care of an infant in her mental state could be the final straws, and with a baby involved, I must act. Jane needs to be home and receive the proper medical care. I fear she is ill-equipped for motherhood, and by stealing onto that ship, she has put everything at risk. I will not let her tread the same path as your Aunt and succumb to despair.

So wish me well, and pray with me that she and the baby come through this ordeal unscathed.

Dr. Archimedes Porter

Johns Hopkins University

THE END


	15. Author's Notes

**Stay Tuned for Further Adventures of Jane!**

_(someday, sometime)_

Thanks so much to everyone who has read this! I really hope I've done a service to Edgar Rice Burroughs, and entertained you in the process. This was truly a labor of love.

Here are my current plans for this work:

I'm going to get a cover designed and then issue this as a FREE ebook that you can share with friends.

Then I plan to re-write this novel as a space adventure…sort of Jane meets Avatar (but it will be an Original Universe, so no N'avi or Unobtanium or Tarzan _per se_). I'll rename the characters etc so the resemblance to anything copyrighted will be incidental. I hope to publish this with a mid to large publisher as a YA SF title. This may take a year or more.

**Story Notes**

I've received a lot of feedback which is all very much appreciated.

Some of the questions revolve around Jane's character. I have a lot of questions myself, the foremost being,

Is Jane crazy?

I don't know. The story just came out the way it did. I try not to question the Muse too much. I've put myself in the position of Dr. Porter, trying to figure out this girl. Can what she says be trusted? Or was all this a delusional fantasy, brought on by some kind of extreme stress?

I think this is all really a question for the reader to decide. Maybe she's Bipolar. There's a lot of manic, self-aggrandizing behavior. Maybe she suffers PTSD, whether from her mother's suicide or from some of the situations in Africa. Maybe she's schizophrenic, attributing actions and motivations to inanimate objects or simple animals.

Whatever the case, I personally like to think of her as perfectly sane but emotionally charged, just a Type-A personality with tons of energy and drive. Despite being brilliant, she doesn't think through her actions and their consequences, and also tends to think in black and white. If I write a sequel, I think I'll need to introduce a older female mentor character who can get her to calm down. I also think taking care of a baby will change her as well.

Thanks so much for reading!

Updated 6/22/2013


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